"Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far--'t is dead limb putty
much all de way."

"Did you say it was a _dead_ limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand in a
quavering voice.

"Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail--done up for sartain--done
departed dis here life."

"What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly in the
greatest distress.

"Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a word, "why come home
and go to bed. Come now!--that's a fine fellow. It's getting late, and,
besides, you remember your promise."

"Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you hear me?"

"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain."

"Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think it
_very_ rotten."

"Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro in a few moments, "but
not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought ventur out leetle way pon de
limb by myself, dat's true."

"By yourself!--what do you mean?"

"Why, I mean de bug. 'Tis _berry_ hebby bug. Spose I drop him down fuss,