“Why, Lor’ me, mahster,” began Dick, encouraged, and assuming an attitude worthy of the vast generalization he was about to utter, “I really do believe into my soul dat people is born so; dey is pint’ly,—specially young folks.” And he stopped in mid-career. “What dat? ’Pear like I hear the far gate slam. But Marse Charley, he are a keener, he are, and the gal what catches him will have to be a keener too, she will pint’ly. Marse Charley worse’n a oyster at low tide; soon as a young ’oman begins a-speculatin’ and a-gallivantin’ round him, he shets up, he do.” And the old man chuckled. “Howsomever, he am pint’ly a keener, ef you hear Dick—”
“Listen, Dick!”
“I do believe I hear a horse snort! D’yar ’tis again! Somebody comin’ through de gate. ’Fore de Lord, I believe ’tis Marse Charley! Lemme look good! Sure enough, d’yar he is! Sarvant, Marse Charles! I knowed you was a-comin’ dis very night, and I hope I may die ef he ain’t on old Hop-and-go-fetch-it! Lord a’ massy! Lord a’ massy! Well, it’s an ill wind what don’t blow de crows out o’ some gent’mun’s cornfield. Lord a’ massy, Marse Charley, what is you a-doin’ up d’yar on dat poor old critter, and de horses in de stable jess a-spilin’ to have somebody fling he leg over ’em?”
“Well, my boy, is that you?”
“Yes, here I am again, and glad to be back at home. How are you, Uncle Tom?”
“The same old seven-and-sixpence,—always well; and how are you?”
“Sound in wind and limb, and savagely hungry.”
“Well, get down, and we’ll soon cure that ailment.”
“I am very sorry,” said Charley, as they entered the dining-room, “that I had to stay away so long, but it seemed right that I should help nurse him. Ah, what a noble fire!”
“Well, you are at home again, at any rate. Polly will soon have some supper for you, and you know what is in the sideboard.”