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"Look yer, boy, what you doin' dar?" he demanded suspiciously, and then called to some one inside the house. "Marse George, dat ar Burr boy is a-loungin' roun' yo' yawd." The judge did not respond, but the tutor came to the door of the office and intercepted the boy's retreat. He was a pale, long-faced young man in spectacles, with weak, blue eyes and a short, thin moustache.
"I nuver seed no use a-fittin' unless you is gwine ter fit in de yuther pusson's yawd," interpolated Aunt Rhody. "De way ter fit is ter keep a-sidlin' furder f'om yo' own hen roos' en nigher ter de hen roos' er de somebody dat's a-fittin' you." "Hold your tongue, Rhody," retorted Mrs. Lightfoot, and then drew Betty a little to one side.
They were just ascending the hill when the black man, getting within speaking distance, cried out: "Miss Vi'la, Ah jist cum frum town, an' what do yo' 'spose? Sam Wiles hab' 'scaped frum jail. He got out las' night. Sumhow he got a file an' cut two ba's out'n his cell winder an' crep' through. In sum way he clim' ober de yawd fence an' got cl'ar 'way.
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