"Me?"

"Yes, you; what is it?"

"I'm name', eh, Euonymus; yass'm."

"Oh, boy, where'd your mother get that name?"

"Why, mist'ess, ain't dat a Bible name?"

"Oh, yes," I said, remembering Onesimus. With my parasol I indicated
the other figure, sunbonneted, motionless, gazing on us through the
brush.

"Has she a Bible name too?"

"Yass'm; Robelia."

Robelia brought chin and shoulder together and sniggered. "Euonymus,"
I asked, "have you seen two young gentlemen, fishing, anywhere near
here?"

"Yass'm, dey out 'pon a san'bar 'bout two hund'ed yards up de creek."
The black finger that pointed was as clean as mine.

"You and this woman," thought I again, "are dodging those men." With a
smile as of curiosity I looked my slim informant over once more. I had
never seen slavery so flattered yet so condemned.