“Nat one, lock (rock). Makern heap easy carry-em.”
“Where did you get the box?”
“You savvey place him horse get scare; him wagon, he fa' over top-side down. Him money, he fa' out. Him stop place snow melt away by heap big tlee tlunk. Me see. Missa Land, I know he like. I ketchem.”
When Rand took Jo home they were met by a smiling Sing in a snowy white apron.
“Where's the other boy?” asked Jo.
“Him boy? I tellum get out quick, or I killum, sure!”
“Ah Sing, how can I ever thank you for all the six months you've spent in the brush?”
“He all-li, Massa Land. You ketchem me come out nat jail. I heap savvey you come see Missie Jo. Missie papa, lo-ong time now, he ketchee me no die. Missie Jo, alla same my girl-o.”
“Those Indians—”
“Were Sing's friends, dear, dressed up.”