He paid the money to Shin, and started toward the door again, when he was once more intercepted. “Lemme fix de collar of yo’ coat, brudder,” Shin suggested. He seized the old man by the shoulders, shook the loose coat on his thin shoulders, and pretended to fit it around his wrinkled neck; at the same time, he thrust his hand into the coat pocket and extracted the purloined knife and fork. Popsy never missed them. In fact, he did not know that he had them. Shin handed him his patriarchal staff and gave him a slight push toward the door. At that moment Mustard Prophet stood at the entrance, “Is you ready to go out, Popsy?” Mustard asked cordially, as he shook hands. “Dar now!” Popsy snorted. “I knowed I come in dis place fer some puppus, but I couldn’t think whut it wus. I promised to meet Mustard here. He’s gwine take me out to his house to dinner, an’ I’m done went an’ et!” “Dat’s no diffunce, Popsy,” Mustard chuckled. “You’ll be hongry agin by de time you gits out to de Nigger-Heel.” Popsy stopped beside the wagon and stared in pop-eyed amazement at the white boy who sat with his feet hanging out of the rear end. “Befo’ Gawd!” the old man bawled. “Dar’s little Jimmy Gaitskill dat I ain’t seed fer sixty year’!” “You’s gwine back too fur, Popsy,” Mustard laughed. “Dat’s Marse Jimmy Gaitskill’s grandchile.” “Huh,” the old man grunted, as Mustard helped him to a seat in the wagon. “De Gaitskills look de same all over de worl’.” “How does dey look, Popsy?” Mustard chuckled. “Dey’s got de look of eagles,” Popsy replied. Shin watched the wagon until it disappeared around a turn in the road. His eyes were on Popsy’s bent form as far as he could see it. “Dat’s de biggest bat I ever knowed,” Shin remarked to the world as he turned back and entered his place of business. III THE RABBIT-FOOT Two hours later, Mustard Prophet stopped his wagon in the horse-lot of the Nigger-Heel plantation. “Dis is whar you mounts down, Popsy,” he said. “Whut does I git off here fer?” Popsy asked querulously. “Gawd knows,” Mustard grinned. “I done fotch you out to de plantation as by per yo’ own request. Dis is it.” He lifted the aged man down and walked with him to the house, making slow progress as the old man supported himself with his staff and insisted on stopping at frequent intervals to discuss some vagary of his mind, or to dispute something that Mustard had said. At last Mustard assisted him to a chair on the porch and handed him a glass of water. “Glad to hab you-alls out here wid me, Popsy,” he proclaimed. “Set down an’ rest yo’ hat and foots.” “I ain’t seed de Nigger-Heel plantation fer nigh onto fifty year,” Popsy whined. “I used to wuck on dis plantation off an’ on when I wus a growin’ saplin’.”