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Their
words
could
be
heard
below
,
though
their
young
mistress
did
not
intentionally
listen
to
them
.
It
was
only
on
their
pronouncing
a
name
,
that
she
permitted
their
patois
to
make
an
impression
upon
her
ear
.
"
Dey
calls
de
young
fella
Jerrad
.
Mors
Jerrad
am
de
name
.
Dey
do
say
he
Irish
,
but
if
folks
'
peak
de
troof
,
he
a
n't
bit
like
dem
Irish
dat
works
on
de
Lebee
at
New
Orlean
.
Ho
,
ho
!
He
more
like
bos
gen
'
lum
planter
.
Dat
's
what
he
like
.
"
"
You
do
n't
tink
,
Pluto
,
he
been
gone
kill
Massa
Henry
?
"
"
I
doa
n't
tink
nuffin
ob
de
kind
.
Ho
,
ho
!
He
kill
Massa
Henry
!
no
more
dan
dis
chile
hab
done
dat
same
.
Goramity
--
Goramity
!
'
Peak
ob
de
debbil
and
he
dar
--
de
berry
individible
we
talkin
'
'
bout
.
Ho
,
ho
!
look
Florinde
;
look
yonner
!
"
"
Whar
?
"
"
Dar
--
out
dar
,
on
todder
side
ob
de
ribber
.
You
see
man
on
horseback
.
Dat
's
Mors
Jerrad
,
de
berry
man
we
meet
on
de
brack
praira
.
De
same
dat
gub
Missa
Loode
'
potted
hoss
;
de
same
dey
've
all
gone
to
sarch
for
.
Ho
,
ho
!
Dey
gone
dey
wrong
way
.
Dey
no
find
him
out
on
dem
prairas
dis
day
.
"
"
O
,
Pluto
!
a
n't
you
glad
?
I
'm
sure
he
innocent
--
dat
brave
bewful
young
gen
'
lum
.
He
nebba
could
been
de
man
--
"
The
listener
below
stayed
to
hear
no
more
.
Gliding
back
into
her
chamber
she
made
her
way
towards
the
azotea
.
The
beating
of
her
heart
was
almost
as
loud
as
the
fall
of
her
footsteps
while
ascending
the
escalera
.
It
was
with
difficulty
she
could
conceal
her
emotion
from
the
two
individuals
whose
conversation
had
caused
it
.
"
What
have
you
seen
,
that
you
talk
so
loudly
?
"
said
she
,
trying
to
hide
her
agitation
under
a
pretended
air
of
severity
,
"
Ho
,
ho
!
Missa
Looey
--
look
ober
dar
.
De
young
fella
!
"
"
What
young
fellow
?
"
