Birt assented. "An' he 'lowed he'd be hyar ter-day by sun-up. Rufe
brung that word from him yestiddy."

Rufe's conscience had given him a recess, during which he had
consumed several horse-apples in considerable complacence and a
total disregard of "yerb tea." He had climbed a tree, and sampled a
green persimmon, and he endured with fortitude the pucker in his
mouth, since it enabled him to make such faces at Towse as caused
the dog to snap and growl in a frenzy of surprised indignation. He
had fashioned a corn-stalk fiddle--that instrument so dear to rural
children!--and he had been sawing away on it to his own satisfaction
and Tennessee's unbounded admiration for the last half-hour. He had
forgotten that pursuing conscience till it seized upon him again in
the tanyard.

"Oh, Birt," he quavered out, suddenly, "I hain't laid eyes on Nate."

Birt exclaimed indignantly, and Jubal Perkins laughed.

"I seen sech a cur'ous lookin' man, down in the ravine by the lick,
ez it sot me all catawampus!" continued Rufe.

As he told of his defection, and the falsehood with which he had
accounted for it, Jubal Perkins came to a sudden decision.

"Git on that thar mule, Birt, an' ride over ter Nate's, an' find out
what ails him, ef so be ye hanker ter know. I don't want nobody
workin' in this hyar tanyard ez looks ez mournful ez ye do--like ez
ef ye hed been buried an' dug up. But hurry back, 'kase there ain't
enough bark ground yit, an' I hev got other turns o' work I want ye