"W'y, sah, got de reason dat I'se troubled in my mine dis ebenin'."
"Is I troubled? Now, dat's er fine question ter ax er man dat has been carryin' on like I has. Ain't my fiddle 'fused ter talk ter me, an' ain't er old song dun failed ter fetch de co'n-bread crumbs o' comfort? Tibby sho. Now, whut's de matter? Suthin' dat I needs. Whut is dat suthin'? W'y, I needs ter go er possum huntin', sah, dat's whut I needs. I dreamed last night dat I seed er piece o' fat meat an' er sweet pertater er raslin'. I knowed it meant suthin', but I didn' know whut till jes' now. It means dat we got ter go er possum huntin' dis yere very night, sah. How do it hit you?"
"Then, let us get ready and go at once," said Potter. "There is no retrospective hand that reaches so kindly out of the past and touches me with a thrill of so endearing a memory as the hand that comes out from under the hazy curtain of an Indian-summer night and gently draws me back into a hallowed past, when, with eager footsteps, I followed the negroes on my father's farm to the place where the dogs had treed."
"Yas, I reckon so," Alf replied; "I do reckon dat; yas, sah, I do. I doan know nuthin' 'bout no arm comin' out, but I knows dat de ricollection o' some frosty nights in ole North Kliny makes me wush dat I wuz dar, er boy ergin. But let us go on ef we gwine, caze it's been some time sense de oven has shined wid de sweet grease o' de possum. Deze new dogs we got, I doan know so much erbout 'em. Wush Ole Pete--neber mine, dat's all right. Lawd, yo' ole servant 'bout ter grumble ergin."
They went out into the beautiful night. Nature was so hushed that the rythmic flow of the river could be heard. The stars seemed to shine through a gauzy sheen. In the air there was a faltering promise of the coming of winter. On a log, where the moonbeams fell, there lay a substance of greenish white. It was a dead tree-toad.
"Let's cross dis fiel'," said Alf, "an' skirt 'long de edge o' de woods whar de 'simmon trees grows. Whoop--ee! [calling to the dogs]. Git 'em down, ole boys. Whoop--ee, git 'em down!"
The old negro was joyous. He hummed old tunes. "I doan know whut make dem varmints so skace ter-night," said he.
"Knowing that you were coming after them, they have doubtless all left the country," John replied.