ow like a buffalo-bull, so I will; and
won't never love you no more, so I won't." Generous little runaway.

"An' would my little man like fur us to take de young Injun home wid
us?"

"Yes, indeed, that I would!" The little man was delighted at the
thought, but immediately added, "If he would like to go." Considerate
little runaway.

"An' s'posin' ef he wouldn't; what den?"

"Then let him go home to his mother." Filial little runaway.

"I yi, my larky!" cried the Fighting Nigger, with an emphatic snap of
finger and thumb, then added: "But Bushie, why didn't you holler fur me
when de dead varmint ober yander gobbled you up?"

"Because he slipped up behind me while I was watching the squirrels and
crows, and before I knew it clapped his hand over my mouth."

"Ah, Bushrod, Bushrod!" with a sad shake of the head; "didn't I tole you
dar's Injuns in de woods wid stickin' knives an' splittin' tomahawks fur
bad little boys as don't mind der mudders an' runs away frum home an'
hain't got nothin' to say fur 'emselves but beca'se? Heh, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did!" acknowledging the fact with sheepish frankness.

"Well, ef I let dis young Injun up, will you eber do de like ag'in--run
away wid de red varmints an' make yo'r pore mudder mizzible?"

"No, indeed; that I won't! 'Indeed, and double 'deed,' I won't!" his
eyes now filling with tears. Remorseful little runaway.

"Lef' her settin' dar, I did, at de doo'," continued Burl, now
modulating his voice into a sort of dolorous tune: "pore mudder all by
herself at de doo'. Couldn't speak a word, couldn't walk a step, so
mizzible--so onsituwated, fur dar she's a-settin' yit, I know, a-lookin'
an' a-lookin', a-prayin' an' a-prayin', to see her pore ol' nigger
comin' home a totein' her pore little boy on his back. How could you,
Bushie, how could you leave yo' pore mudder so onsituwated? I wouldn't
be 'stonished----"

"O don't, Burl! Please don't; it hurts me so--it nearly kills me!" And
with the loved pictures of home--the motherly face, with its white cap;
the mother's bed, with his own little trundle-bed underneath; the table,
with its white cloth folded and laid upon it; the hickory-bound cedar
water-bucket, with its crooked handled gourd; the red corner-cupboard,
with its store of Johnny-cakes and cold potatoes for quiet enjoyment
between meals; old Cornwallis; the red rooster; the speckled hen; the
yellow tomcat--with all these loved images passing with sudden vividness