dunno how it is 'zactly,--Jim'll tell yer. He dunno as I be, yer know,
'n he dunno _but_ I be, 'n he's afeard to leave go o' me for _fear_ I
be. See?"

"Do you and Jim live together?"

"Yes, we live at Mis' Kennett's. Jim swipes the grub; I build the
fires'n help cook'n wipe dishes for Jim when I ain't sick, 'n I mind
Miss Kennett's babies right along,--she most allers has new ones, 'n she
gives me my lunch for doin' it."

"Is Mrs. Kennett nice and kind?"

"O-h, yes; she's orful busy, yer know, 'n won't stand no foolin'."

"Is there a Mr. Kennett?"

"Sometimes there is, 'n most allers there ain't."

My face by this time was an animated interrogation point. My need of
explanation must have been hopelessly evident, for he hastened to add
footnotes to the original text.

"He's allers out o' work, yer know, 'n he don't sleep ter home, 'n if
yer want him yer have to hunt him up. He's real busy now, though,--doin'
fine."

"That's good. What does he do?"

"He marches with the workingmen's percessions 'n holds banners."