"No, I do not care for his orders. It was by this
that you came to me?" she asked, turning to me again, and pointing
mincingly at the paper.
"I found it in the stream," I replied; "almost a mile below this."
"Yes, yes; you found it in the stream. And you opened it, and read
the writing?"
I shook my head. "The writing, ma'am, was blotted--I could read
nothing."
"Not even my little song?" She peered into the paper, threw up her
head and piped a note or two, for all the world as a bird chirrups,
lifting his bill, after taking a drink. "La-la-la--you did not
understand, hey? But, nevertheless, you came, and of your own will.
_He_ did not bring you?"
I shook my head again, having no clue to her meaning.
"So best," she said, changing her tone of a sudden to one of extreme
gravity. "For if he found you here--here of all places--he would
kill you. Yes"--she nodded impressively "for sure we would kill you.
He kill all these."
She waved a hand, indicating the grave-mounds. Her voice, at these
dreadful words, ran up to an almost more dreadful airiness; and still
she continued nodding, but now with a sort of simpering pride.
"All these," she repeated, waving her hand again towards the mounds.
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