How do they talk
about me these days?"
"Who?"
"The farmers -- and the family."
"Why, they don't talk about you at all -- at least
only just a mention, once in a long time."
"The nation!" he says, surprised; "why is that?"
"Because they think you are dead long ago."
"No! Are you speaking true? -- honor bright,
now." He jumped up, excited.
"Honor bright. There ain't anybody thinks you are
alive."
"Then I'm saved, I'm saved, sure! I'll go home.
They'll hide me and save my life. You keep mum.
Swear you'll keep mum -- swear you'll never, never tell
on me. Oh, boys, be good to a poor devil that's being
hunted day and night, and dasn't show his face! I've
never done you any harm; I'll never do you any, as
God is in the heavens; swear you'll be good to me
and help me save my life."
We'd a swore it if he'd been a dog; and so we done
it. Well, he couldn't love us enough for it or be grate-
ful enough, poor cuss; it was all he could do to keep
from hugging us.
We talked along, and he got out a little hand-bag
and begun to open it, and told us to turn our backs.
We done it, and when he told us to turn again he was
perfectly different to what he was before. He had on
blue goggles and the naturalest-looking long brown
whiskers and mustashes you ever see. His own
mother wouldn't 'a' knowed him. He asked us if he
looked like his brother Jubiter, now.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25