"S'manthy, you 'n' me wuz all-ays good frien's, wuz n't we?" "Toobshore, Bob." "I used to think you wuz _some_ at a hoe-down; you wuz the best-lookin' un the liveliest dancer uv all. How you _did_ slam-bang the floor!" S'manthy smiled in her faded way. "Bob, that's all saf'-sodder, un you know it. Say, Bob, ef you're sech a frien' why on yerth don' choo tell a-body what fotcht you over h-yer to-day?" "Aw, well, I'd tell, on'y I'm afeared you'd go un let out." "Not me. 'T a'n't like me to blab." "Well, I don' mine tellin' _you_, S'manthy, 'f yeh won't tell the ole man tell mornin'." "Oh! I'd never tell _him_. He'd go potterin' all over Broad Run Holler weth it, fust thing." "'S the bes' joke," said Bob, rubbing his knees exultingly; "but I'm afeared you'll tell," he added, rousing himself. "'Pon my word 'n' honor, I won't. Nobody'll ever git 't out uh me." And S'manthy emphasized this assurance by a boastful nodding of the head forward and to one side. "Well, 'f you think you kin keep the sekert overnight--Don' choo tell no livin' critter tell mornin'." "I hain't no hand to tell sekerts, an' you 'd orter know that, Bob." "Well, you jes let Jake 'n' his crowd go to Moscow to-night," said Bob, chuckling in a semi-tipsy, soliloquizing tone. "I come over to make shore they _wuz_ a-goin', un I wuz to let the sher'f know ef they had got wind uv anything. I saw Markham, the deppitty, about one o'clock this mornin', un he tole me he 'd look arter the eenques' un I mus' keep a lookout over h-yer. Jake 'll have a rousin' time, un no mistake." "Shootin'?" queried S'manthy, with eagerness. "Naw! I wuz on'y a-lettin' on about shootin' to fool Uncle Lazar. Hain't got no needcessity to shoot. Better 'n that! Gosh!" "Goin' to take the young feller away?" "I 'low they did n't never take him back to Moscow arter the eenques'." "Tuh law! You don't say? Whar 've they tuck 'm to?" "I sha'n't tell," said Bob. "I sha'n't tell even _you_, S'manthy." "Perrysburg?" "You all-ays wuz some at guessin'. But I sha'n't say nary nuther word, on'y he 's whar Jake won't find him ef he goes to Moscow. They went summers, un that's anough. Perrysburg jail 's ruther stronger 'n ourn, I'll say _that_. 'T wuz all fixed, 'fore I lef' home, to run him off afore the verdick wuz in, un not to keep to the big road nuther, so 's Jake would n' git wind uv 'em. Don't you whisper Perrysburg to a livin' soul. You jes' let Jake go down to Moscow! I'm comin' over 'n the mornin' to fetch your mare home un git my little Seizer that 's got to stay h-yer to-night, un then I'll fine out how they come out." And Bob chuckled as he left the house, only turning back to say: "You keep closte, S'manthy, ur you'll spile it all. 'F you do tell, I won't _never_ forgive yeh."