Just before the shades of evening shut in, Basset—­agreeably to the preconcerted plan, presented himself at the hut of the General, and took his station at the window that commanded, for quite a distance, a view of the road.  The moon was shining, and her beams, reflected from the snow, made it easy to distinguish objects.  The constable sighed, as he took his seat, and declared that, in all his experience, he never had so much difficulty in his legal business.  It was the General’s cue to encourage his visitor, and keep up his resolution.  He, therefore, said, in a cheerful tone—­

“Folks say, dere is nebber no lane but hab one turn.  Now, dis is de turn.  See, how de road twist round my house.  Dat is a good sign.”

“If I don’t git him this time,” said Basset, “I guess I might as well give it up, and the State of Connecticut may just be reckoned beat.”

“Don’t ground you arms yet, Missa Basset.  In de long run, de raal grit allers carry de day.”

“When I think it all over,” said the constable, musing, “it seems kind o’ queer.  I’m sort o’ bewitched, and, if the days of witches wasn’t gone by, I shouldn’t wonder if some of them hadn’t got me in tow.  But, I ain’t going to give it up yet.  I don’t forget the old chap’s knocking me down in the dark behind my back, as though I’d been no better than a woodchuck or a skunk.”

“How it feel, Missa Basset?” inquired Primus, with a grin.  “Did de old man strike wid de soft side or de hard side ob de cudgel?”

“You needn’t show your ivory,” said the constable, whom the remembrance of his misfortune irritated; “I wish to conscience you’d felt it yourself; you’d have known, then, without the need of asking questions.”

“Golly!  Missa Basset,” exclaimed Primus.  “You tink nobody hab feeling but yousef.  You gib my arm sich a winch when de ole man kick you behind, or knock you ober (I nebber know which) dat I feel him now.”

“He didn’t kick me,” said Basset, indignantly. “’Twas a regular assault with a club, I tell you.”

“Well, I shouldn’t like sich salt on my shoulder, aldo dey say, salt bery good to keep de wound from catching cold.”

“I tell you what, darkey,” cried the constable, losing patience at the other’s sneers.  “You talk like an old fool.  If you hain’t got anything pleasanter to say, you might as well shut up.”

“Yes, I be an old fool,” said Primus, as if speaking to himself, “and dis is all de tank I git from dis white man.  I depose my life on de ribber.  I git a’most murdered when de ghost kick him behind; he break my leg made out ob a good piece ob ash; I invite him to my house, like a gen’leman, and de civilest word I get, is—­darkey and old fool.  Yes, Primus, you complexion is dark, and you be a big fool.”

“Don’t take on so, Prime,” said Basset; “I spoke rash, and I ask your pardon.  But, what’s the use of aggravating a man in that way!”

“I tink you must ’scuse my keeping company wid you, arter to-night,” continued Primus, looking steadily into the fire, and knitting his brows; “I nebber get noting but bad luck in his sarvice.  Next time, I git my neck broke, and den ’tis all done wid dis poor niggur.  De carpenter find hard work to make one to fit.”