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"I tell you I don't!" bawled the skipper. "Why, yas you do." "Say, look a-here, What's-your-name, I'm goin' to give ye ten seconds to tell me the name of that critter." He made a clutch to one side, and then remembered with a flush that he was no longer in reach of a spike-rack. "Why, that was Kun'l Gideon Ward," faltered Uncle Jordan, impressed at last by the Cap'n's fury. "I thought ye knew."
"Any man that can put Kun'l Gid Ward where he belongs is a better thing for the town than a new meetin'-house would be." But during all this flurry of gossip Cap'n Aaron Sproul spent his bland and blissful days up under the shade of the big maple in the Ward dooryard, smoking his pipe, and gazing out over the expanse of meadow and woodland stretching away to the horizon.
Den I gwine red up de house an' take de keys to Mass' Gimble, de agent. Den Polly an' me we go back to our own li'l' house in de lane yondeh. De Kun'l done 'range ev'thing propeh, an' we gwine do jus' like he say." Mary Louise felt lonely and uncomfortable in the big house, now that her mother and grandfather had gone away.
"I would, or any other man. I belong to myself now, and I will fight for my own freedom to the last." "I dunno 'bout dat, Dan," mused Cyd. "Hossifus! Shoot Massa Kun'l! Dunno 'bout dat." "Turn in, Cyd, and go to sleep. You may have the first chance." The two boys drew lots for the choice of berths, and Dan obtained the after one.
He drove on, though the Cap'n hobbled after him, shouting strong language, in which the parrots joined. "You needn't try to make me think that there ain't nobody who don't know the Kun'l," was the retort the man flung over his shoulder. "Nice and accommodatin' class of paternage that's passin'," growled the Cap'n, kicking an inoffensive chair as he came back to his platform.
"I'm told the Cap'n is makin' her a turrible nice husband," observed one of the store loungers. Broadway folded his specs into their case and came from behind the counter. "Bein' a bus'ness man myself," he said, "I come pretty nigh knowin' what I'm talkin' about. Kun'l Gid Ward can never flout and jeer that the man that has married his sister was nothin' but a prop'ty-hunter.
"Well, what's that got to do with his runnin' toll on this bridge?" demanded the Cap'n. "Bridge piers hold up his logs, he says, and he ain't never goin' to pay toll till the bridgemen pay him for loss of time on logs. It's been what you might call a stand-off for a good many years. Best thing is to let him run toll. That's what your uncle thought. I reckoned you knew all about Kun'l Gid Ward.
"We done runned away from Massa Kun'l." "He may catch you again." "De Kun'l ain't here, no how, Dandy; 'pose I neber see him any more, and he neber see me any more, who's my massa den?" "When you get into a free country, you will be free." "But who's my massa now? Dat's what dis chile want to know for sartin." "You have no master."
She's a turrible nice sort of woman. There's risin' a hundred thousand dollars in her share, if the truth was known, and there's been some pretty good men shine up around her a little, but the Kun'l has run 'em away with a picked stick." "Has, hey?" "There ain't no Jack the Giant-Killers in these parts," sighed Old Man Jordan, hooking his bucket upon his arm and shambling away.
"Wal, near's I can find out," said Odbar Broadway from behind his counter, where he was counting eggs out of Old Man Jordan's bucket, "the Cap'n had a club in one hand and power of attorney from Kun'l Gid's sister in the other and a threat to divide the Ward estate. The way Gid's bus'ness is tied up jest at present would put a knot into the tail of 'most any kind of a temper."
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