"
"Well, you ain' much to look at, dat's sho'," replied Big Abel, his face
shining like polished ebony, "en I ain' much to look at needer, but dey'll
have ter recollect de way we all wuz befo' we runned away; dey'll have ter
recollect you in yo' fine shuts en fancy waistcoats, en dey'll have ter
recollect me in yo' ole uns. Sakes alive! I kin see dat one er yourn wid de
little bit er flow'rs all over hit des es plain es ef 'twuz yestiddy."
"The waistcoats are all gone now," said Dan gravely, "and so are the
shirts. The war is over and you are your own master, Big Abel. You don't
belong to me from this time on."
Big Abel shook his head grinning.
"I reckon hit's all de same," he remarked cheerfully, "en I reckon we'd es
well be gwine on home, Marse Dan."
"I reckon we would," said Dan, and they pushed on in silence.
X
ON THE MARCH AGAIN
That night they slept on the blood-stained floor of an old field hospital,
and the next morning Pinetop parted from them and joined an engineer who
had promised him a "lift" toward his mountains.
As Dan stood in the sunny road holding his friend's rough hand, it seemed
to him that such a parting was the sharpest wrench the end had brought.
"Whenever you need me, old fellow, remember that I am always ready," he
said in a husky voice.
Pinetop looked past him to the distant woods, and his calm blue eyes were
dim.
"I reckon you'll go yo' way an' I'll go mine," he replied, "for thar's one
thing sartain an' that is our ways don't run together.
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