"That's about all they're fit fer," he said, contemptuously, and he turned to
Chad.

"Whar you from, little man, an' whar you goin', an' what mought yo' name be?"

Chad told his name, and where he was from, and stopped.

"Whar you goin'?" said Tom again, without a word or look of comment.

Chad knew the disgrace and the suspicion that his answer was likely to
generate, but he looked his questioner in the face fearlessly.

"I don't know whar I'm goin'."

The big fellow looked at him keenly, but kindly.

"You ain't lyin' an' I reckon you better come with us." He turned for the
first time to his brothers and the two nodded.

"You an' yo' dawg, though Mammy don't like dawgs much; but you air a stranger
an' you ain't afeerd, an' you can fight--you an' yo' dawg--an' I know Dad'll
take ye both in."

So Chad and Jack followed the long strides of the three Turners over the hill
and to the bend of the river, where were three long cane fishing-poles with
their butts stuck in the mud--the brothers had been fishing, when the flying
figure of the little girl told them of the coming of a stranger into those
lonely wilds. Taking these up, they strode on--Chad after them and Jack
trotting, in cheerful confidence, behind. It is probable that Jack noticed, as