“How come I ain’t” demanded the negro. “He ain’ no kin to me, neither, is he? I was jus’ a-workin’ for him. Mister Higgins ain’ got no more ’sponsibility about me than he has about you, Mas’ Wayne.” “Just the same, June, he can fetch you back if he ever catches you.” “Can, can he? Let me tell you somethin’. He ain’ _goin’_ to catch me! Nobody ain’ goin’ to catch me! Coloured folkses is free an’ independent citizens, ain’ they? Ain’ they, Mas’ Wayne?” “Maybe they’re free,” answered his companion grimly, “but if you get to acting independent I’ll just about lick the hide off you! I ought to have done it back yonder and sent you home where you belong.” “I’se where I belong right now,” replied June stoutly. “Ain’ we been together ever since we was jus’ little fellers, Mas’ Wayne? Wasn’ my mammy your mammy’s nigger for years an’ years? How come I ain’ got no right here? Ain’ my mammy always say to me, ‘You Junius Brutus Tasker, you watch out for Young Master an’ don’ you ever let no harm come to him, ’cause if you do I’ll tan your hide’? Ain’ she always tell me that ever since I was so high? What you think I was goin’ to do, Mas’ Wayne, when I seen you sneakin’ off that night? Wasn’ but jus’ one thing _to_ do, was there? How you ’spects I was goin’ to watch out for you like my mammy tells me if I didn’ go along with you? Huh? So I jus’ track along till you get to the big road, an’ then I track along till you get to Summitty, and then I track along----” “Yes, and you climbed into that freight car after me and the man saw you and we all got thrown out,” continued Wayne. “I reckon you meant all right, June, but what do you suppose I’m going to do with you up North here? I got to find work to do and it’s going to be hard enough to look after Sam here without having a pesky darkey on my hands. Best thing you can do is hike back home before you starve to death.” “Huh! I ain’ never starved to death yet, Mas’ Wayne, an’ I ain’ lookin’ to. Jus’ like I told you heaps of times, you ain’ got to do no worryin’ about June. I reckon I can find me a job of work, too, can’ I? Reckon folkses has to plough an’ plant an’ pick their cotton up here jus’ like they does back home.” “There isn’t any cotton in the North, June.” “Ain’ no cotton?” ejaculated the other incredulously. “What all they plant up here, then, Mas’ Wayne?” “Oh, apples, I reckon, and----” “I can pick apples, then. I done pick peaches, ain’ I? What else they plant?” “Why----” Wayne didn’t have a very clear notion himself, but it didn’t do to appear ignorant to June. “Why, they--they plant potatoes--white potatoes, you know--and--and peas and--oh, lots of things, I reckon.” June pondered that in silence for a moment. Then: “But how come they don’t plant cotton?” he asked in puzzled tones. “Too cold. It won’t grow for them up here.”