CHAPTER XXVI
THE FLIGHT
Late that same afternoon, Madame Jozain was limping slowly and wearily through a narrow street at the other end of the city, miles away from Good Children Street, when she saw an old negro sitting on a furniture-wagon to which two mules were harnessed.
“Is that you, Pete?” she asked, stopping and looking at him.
“Why, law, yes, it’s me, Miss Pauline, an’ I is mighty glad ter see yer,” said the old man, climbing down.
“And I’m glad to find you, Pete. I see you’ve got a wagon. Is it yours?”
“Well, ’t ain’t edzectly mine, Miss Pauline. I is hired it. But I is a-drivin’ it.”
“I was just looking for some one to move me to-night, Pete.”
“Ter-night, Miss Pauline? Why, we doesn’t often work a’ter sundown, an’ it’s mos’ dat now.”
“What do you charge for a load, Pete, when you move furniture?”
“I mos’ gen’ly charges two dollars a load—when it ain’t too fur, Miss Pauline,” he answered slowly.