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The road dipped down, turned, and they drove upon a ferry-boat, a mere platform of rude plank and propelled by two gaunt men. On the other shore they drove along still keeping close to the river. A country boy hailed them, but without heeding him Kintchin remarked: "Dat's Laz Spencer, an' he takin' dat meal bag home somewhar ter borry suthin' else.
Mayfield he left off his half-dancing walk, began to limp, and approaching her he said: "Ol' steer dun kicked me on de hip." "I am sorry, Kintchin." "Yas'm. But you ain't ha'f ez sorry ez I is. Never wuz kicked by er steer, wuz you?" "No, that's an experience that hasn't fallen to me." "Wall, w'en it do fall you ain't gwine furgit it.
Never saw as slow a nigger in my life. Come on, and I'll go with you." He hastened out, passing Kintchin and commanding him to come on. Margaret busied herself with picking up scraps of paper, among them doubtless being an account of what the captain did, and threw them out into the yard. Standing at the door, and glancing down the road, she spied Mrs.
You Starbuck folks may not mind it, but I ain't uster bein' shot. He say he gwine be 'p'inted deputy marshal, an' w'en he sees me er grindin' de co'n he gwine put er lot o' holes th'u' me. I doan want ter look like no sifter." Jasper arose, put down his lapboard, shut his knife and with a serious air said to the old darkey. "I'm here to protect, you, Kintchin."
Kintchin tied his horse to a "swinging limb," and the ladies were assisted to the ground. Tom conducted them into the post-office, a store wherein the merchant had for sale snuff, red calico, brown jeans, plug tobacco, cast iron plow points, nails and cove oysters. The post-master came forward dragging after him two splint-bottom chairs. "Set down," he said.
It's my little bit o' money you's atter, but you ain't gwine ter git it. Dat money's ter bury me wid." And in a self-satisfied way she nodded at him and resumed her work. Kintchin stepped back, the word 'bury' having thrown a temporary pall upon his cupidity, but soon he rallied and renewed his attack. "Funny dat er lady will save all her life long jest ter be buried.
In Starbuck's household, or at least attached to his log-house establishment, there were two other persons, an old black mammy who had nursed Jasper, and a trifling negro named Kintchin. One day in summer there came two notable visitors, Mrs. Mayfield, and her nephew Tom Elliott, both from Nashville, sister and son of a United States Judge.
Old Jasper's meditations were disturbed by Kintchin who thrust his head through the window and inquired: "Doan want me to take dat co'n ober ter Spencer's 'fo' dinner, does you?" "No, any time this evenin' will do." The negro came into the house and as he entered Starbuck said to him: "And while you are resting you mout grind the axes."
Margaret came out of the house. "Howdy, Laz." "Ain't runnin' no foot races, but so as to be about." "Folks all as well as usual?" "Ain't hearn no loud complaint." "Miz Mayfield," said Margaret, "Kintchin fotch me a letter from the post-office this mornin' an' as my eyes ain't right good to-day, I wish you'd come in an' read it to me." "Yes, gladly."
Er man dat wuz over ter de Peter's house say da gwine take 'em erlong as witnesses, an' dat's whut skeered me. I's mighty glad ter see you ain't takin' on no wus den you is. I wuz erfeared dat you gwine ter holler like er devil-skeered lady at er camp-meetin'." "Kintchin, I have put my faith in the Lord." "Yas'm, dat's whut I done 'bout ha'f my faif in de Lord an' tuther ha'f in my laigs.
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