“Solomon!” he exclaimed at last. At this, Solomon held up both hands with a warning gesture and a face full of fearful apprehension. The look and gesture would have been in every way appropriate to some criminal hiding from the law, and fearful of discovery; but it was utterly out of place in one so virtuous and so honored as the venerable Solomon. This incongruity was felt by Bart, and only added to his amazement. “When did you come?” Solomon retreated behind the door, dragging Bart after him. “Last night,” he answered. “Last night? How?” “I walked ebery step--I did.” “Walked?” “Yes, ebery step. I rund away, you know.” “Ran away? What do you mean?” Solomon’s eyes rolled wildly; he looked all around. “Drefful doins out dar. Drefful place. An dar’s no noins what would hab ebber become ob me ef you didn’t hab come yesterday. I’d been a pinin an a whinin in Gypsum bondage, but couldn’t get away. She kept tight hole ob me,--mine, I tell you,--an she’ll be arter me to-day, mighty quick,--ony you keep me hid, Mas’r Bart. Don’t gib me up; don’t let her take me.” “She? Her?” replied Bart, to whom all this was quite unintelligible. “What do you mean? What woman are you speaking of?” “Black Betsy,” said Solomon, with a groan and another fearful roll of the eyes. “Black Betsy? Why, what has she to do with you?” asked Bart, in wonder. “Why, she my wife, you know.” “Your wife? Your what? Your wife?” cried Bart. “What! Black Betsy! You married to Black Betsy! What in the world do you mean by this? When were you married? Last week?” “Ben mar’d ober twenty year,” said Solomon, dolefully. This was a period of remote antiquity with which Bart had no connection, and he could only listen in amazement to Solomon’s strange and startling disclosure. He had never heard of this before. He had no idea that Solomon had a wife, or that Black Betsy had a husband. But this thing required examination, and meanwhile the horse was all ready. As for the horse, he could only give orders to have him taken out, and then he was able to bestow his undivided attention upon Solomon. “Ben mar’d mor’n twenty year,” replied Solomon, dolefully. “An you nebber see sech a strorny creetur in all your born days. Fight? Why, dat ar woman did nuffin but fight from morn to night, all de year roun. An drunk? Why, she nebber sober, night or day; an de life she led me! Beat? Why, she beat me black and blue; so I rund off to sea, and a bressed ting it was, for I ben dead an gone long ago. Den I heerd she gone off Boston way, an I come back yer, an den went to de Cadmy. Well, I got a mar’d darter out Loch Lomon way, an I come yer dis time to see her and de chil’en; an dar was Betsy. She nabbed me. She beat my life out, made me a slabe, and I done nuffin but grub about ebber since I come yar. Beat? Why, ebery day she pound me to a jelly. Clar if she didn’t! An de way she did lay dat ar big broomstick ober dis ole head. De sakes, ony to tink ob it.”