"Foller me in, Buddy--I'm aimin' to kick up some breakfast 'bout now--maybe yo'll have a snack, eh?" Bud did not open his mouth, but his pale eyes followed Johnse as he began hacking at a raw shoulder of pork. Buddy knew Johnse, and Johnse knew Buddy, and the boy knew that there was something particular in Johnse's mind. And Hatfield knew just as well what Buddy would say as if the boy had already condescended to speak. After a minute's unbroken silence, Johnse said: "What ded yo' say, Buddy, eh? Ded yo' say yo'd have a hank o' corn bread, an' a slab o' po'k, eh?" "Naw," answered the boy sullenly. With the knife poised Johnse cast a covert look at Bud. Then he laid the knife down gently, threw his wide hat down on the red oil-cloth table cover, and sprawled down on a chair in front of the boy. With one hand he reached out and squeezed Buddy's shoulder solicitously, and pretending not to know what was coming, he inquired in his inimitable soft, smooth voice: "What ails yo', little Cap--hain't yo' feelin' peert like thes nice mornin', eh?" Buddy's lips were tightly compressed and his eyes, which had not wandered from Johnse's face, were now eloquent with reproach. Johnse waited. "I 'low yo' haint a treatin' me right, Johnse Hatfield." The man simulated a profound density. "Whut--whut--hain't a treatin' yo' right?--Why now, Buddy--now--come now." Johnse forced a soft placatory laugh. "Come now, little chap--whut hev I done t' yo'--eh?" Bud straightened up with a jerk and his mouth began to twitch with the heat of some vehement words that stood just behind his lips, but Hatfield quickly forestalled him as he intended to do. "Now--now--don't git riled, little Cap--why, haint I tuk th' best care uv yo' as I know how--an' every month after I've paid th' men, don't I bring yo'-all half o' whuts leftin'--every month since Lem's bin gone I han' over yore part reg'ler--an' last month wus better 'n any--why, I give yo' fifty-one dollars last month, Buddy--whut yo' got to pester yo'--eh?" At Hatfield's first words, the boy had settled back in his chair, plainly disgusted. "Whut do ail yo' anyways, Buddy--eh?" When Buddy straightened up again, Johnse relaxed in his seat and expressed a willingness to listen by plucking his beard with two fingers and a glint of amusement in his small eyes. "Johnse Hatfield," began the boy vigorously, "ef yo'-all wusn't honest, I 'low we-uns wouldn't a hed yo' heah--thet ain't whut I'm aimin' at--hit hain't--yo' alers treated me like pap ded--yo' alers ac'ed like a dad t' me--only one thing, Johnse Hatfield--jest one thing--I air a tellin' yo'." He had slid out of his chair and was now holding an admonitory finger up to Hatfield's face. "Only one thing, Johnse Hatfield--an' yo' done me pesky on thet, yo' ded." Hatfield regarded the end of Buddy's finger for a moment--then softly inquired: "How ded I do yo' pesky, Buddy?"