en you kin crawl up on my back des like
you useter play hoss."

"Why, you can't carry me, old fellow; I'm too heavy for that."

"Shoo! don't you b'leeve de half er dat, Mars. George. I toted bigger
turns dan w'at you is long 'fo' I had de strenk w'at I got now. Grab me
'roun' de neck, Mars. George; git up little higher. Now, den, don't you
be fear'd er fallin'."

Blue Dave rose from his stooping posture, steadied himself a moment,
and then moved on with his living burden. He moved slowly and
cautiously at first, but gradually increased his pace to a swinging
walk that carried him forward with surprising swiftness.

To George Denham it all seemed like a dream. He suffered no pain, and
it was with a sort of queer elation of mind that he felt the huge
muscles of the negro swell and subside under him with the regularity of
machinery, and knew that every movement carried him toward Kitty
Kendrick and rest. He was strangely tired, but not otherwise
uncomfortable. He felt abundantly grateful to this poor runaway negro,
and thought that if he could overcome his mother's prejudices (she had
a horror of runaway negroes) he would buy Blue Dave and make him
comfortable. Thus they swung along until the negro's swift stride
brought them to Mrs. Kendrick's gate. There Blue Dave deposited George
Denham, and exclaimed with a laugh as he leaned against the fence--

"You'er right smart chunk er meat, Mars. George, ez sho ez de worl'!"

George Denham also leaned against the fence, but he didn't laugh. He
was thinking of what seemed to him a very serious matter.

"Mother will be frightened to death when that horse gets home," he
said.

"You go in dar en get worn, Mars. George," said Blue Dave. "I'm gwine
'roun' by de High Bridge en tell um whar you is."

"Why, you'll break yourself down," said George Deuham.

"Ah, Lord, Mars. George!" said the negro, laughing, "time you bin in de
woods long ez I is de four mile 'twix' yer en yo' house'll look mighty
short. Go in dar, Mars. George, 'fo' you git col'!"

Shortly after this, George Denham was in bed and fast asleep. He had
been met at the door by Kitty Kendrick, in whose telltale face the
blushes of that heartiest of all welcomes had chased away the pallor of
dread and anxiety. Mrs. Kendrick was less sympathetic in word than in
deed. She had known George Denham since he was a little boy in short
clothes; and while she approved of him, and had a sort of motherly
affection for him,