Half intelligible words
floated to him as he approached, and from an old pear-tree near the door
there was a flutter of wings where a brood of white turkeys settled to
roost. Beyond the bole of the tree a small negro in short skirts was
"shooin'" a large rooster into the henhouse, but at the muffled fall of
Gay's horse's hoofs on the dead leaves, she turned with a choking sound,
and fled to the shelter of the kitchen at her back.
"My time's done come, but I ain't-a-gwine! I ain't-a-gwine!" wailed
the chorus within. "Ole marster's done come ter fotch me, but I
ain't-a-gwine! O Lawd, I ain't-a-gwine! O Jesus, I ain't-a-gwine!"
"You fools, hold your tongues!" stormed the young man, losing his
temper. "Send somebody out here to take my horse or I'll give you
something to shout over in earnest."
The shrieks trembled high for an instant, and then died out in a
despairing moan, while the blanched face of an old servant appeared in
the doorway.
"Is hit you er yo' ha'nt, Marse Jonathan?" he inquired humbly.
"Come here, you doddering idiot, and take my horse."
But half reassured the negro came a step or two forward, and made
a feeble clutch at the reins, which dropped from his grasp when the
roosting turkeys stirred uneasily on the bough above.
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