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"Go back to yer work," shouted Perkins, who was passing in the distance. This Chunk did, his eyes following the overseer until the hated form was lost to sight in a distant field where a squad of hands were at work. Perkins was simply trying to be ubiquitous that day. Chunk's next step was to steal to the rear of the stables.
Some recognized the girl politely as she stood at the door, while others continued their occupation in stolid indifference. Aun' Jinkey rose tottering from a corner and came to the doorstep. "You see how 'tis, honey," she said. "Dey des gwine on ez ef I ain' yere. I a hun'erd yeahs ol'er dan I wuz w'en you want sump'n ter hap'n." "Take courage, mammy," Miss Lou whispered. "Chunk's safe.
With new and direful forebodings Aun' Jinkey declared loudly: "I doan know what he be. He ain' say not'n ter me 'bout gwine anywhar." Uttering an angry and contemptuous exclamation, Zany sped back, and, with a scared look, said to Miss Lou, "Aun' Jinkey 'clar she dunno not'n 'bout Chunk's doin's. Ef she ain' foolin' me, I des belebe he's runned away."
I kin hep you hab done hit afo' en I kin hinder you, so be keerful. Dere's some dif'unce in bein' a spook yosef en bein' skeered ter death by a rale spook. Ef you tryin' ter skeer en fool me I be wuss on you ner eny Voodoo woman dat eber kunjurd folks." The interview ended in Chunk's making a clean breast of it and in securing Zany as an ally with mental reservations.
Miss Lou's over-taxed mind had given way, or rather was enchained by a spell of horror to the scenes presented all too vividly in Chunk's bald statement. Her nervous force had been too enfeebled and exhausted to endure the shock of an impression so tremendous in its tragic reality that her faculties had no power to go beyond it.
Zany felt instinctively that the girl was beyond their simple ministrations and she was desperately afraid that if Mrs. Baron came Chunk's presence would be revealed by words spoken unconsciously. She and Aun' Jinkey promptly agreed that Mrs. Waldo was their only hope and Zany flew to summon her. Fortunately the lady had not retired and she came at once.
As she and Chunk were stealing toward the kitchen a flash of lightning from the retiring storm revealed a startling figure that of Perkins, drenched and bedraggled, his eyes almost starting from their sockets as he staggered toward his cottage. Chunk's courage at last gave way; he turned and fled, leaving Zany in the lurch.
For two years she inhabited Chunk's flat in the city and lived on Chunk's monthly check. She and Chunk were married. Chunk was to support her. Her father used to support her. Her job then was being nice. That was her job now. And she was nice. And she was still supported. Perfectly logical.
Whately occupied the place of his niece at the table, and viands were fewer, all was as it had been. Zany's fears had subsided, leaving her inwardly chafing at the prospect of monotonous and indefinite years of work under "ole miss," with little chance of Chunk's return.
Shortly before midnight he crept like a cat under the overseer's window. The heavy snoring rose and fell reassuringly, sweet as music to Chunk's ears. Not so the angry, restless growling of the savage bloodhound chained within. "But you doan kotch me dis yere time fer all yer fuss, Marse Grip," the negro muttered. "I done hab yer brekfus' ready fer yer!
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