“What’s that ’coon’s name?” asked Penrod, intending no discourtesy.

“Aim gommo mame,” said the small darky.

“What?”

“Aim gommo mame.”

“What?”

The small darky looked annoyed.

“Aim gommo mame, I hell you,” he said impatiently.

Penrod conceived that insult was intended.

“What’s the matter of you?” he demanded advancing.  “You get fresh with me, and I’ll——­”

“Hyuh, white boy!” A coloured youth of Penrod’s own age appeared in the doorway of the cottage.  “You let ‘at brothuh mine alone.  He ain’ do nothin’ to you.”

“Well, why can’t he answer?”

“He can’t.  He can’t talk no better’n what he was talkin’.  He tongue-tie’.”

“Oh,” said Penrod, mollified.  Then, obeying an impulse so universally aroused in the human breast under like circumstances that it has become a quip, he turned to the afflicted one.

“Talk some more,” he begged eagerly.

“I hoe you ackoom aim gommo mame,” was the prompt response, in which a slight ostentation was manifest.  Unmistakable tokens of vanity had appeared upon the small, swart countenance.

“What’s he mean?” asked Penrod, enchanted.

“He say he tole you ’at ‘coon ain’ got no name.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m name Herman.”

“What’s his name?” Penrod pointed to the tongue-tied boy.

“Verman.”

“What!”

“Verman.  Was three us boys in ow fam’ly.  Ol’est one name Sherman.  ’N’en come me; I’m Herman.  ’N’en come him; he Verman.  Sherman dead.  Verman, he de littles’ one.”

“You goin’ to live here?”

“Umhuh.  Done move in f’m way outen on a fahm.”

He pointed to the north with his right hand, and Penrod’s eyes opened wide as they followed the gesture.  Herman had no forefinger on that hand.

“Look there!” exclaimed Penrod.  “You haven’t got any finger!”

“I mum map,” said Verman, with egregious pride.

“He done ’at,” interpreted Herman, chuckling.  “Yessuh; done chop ’er spang off, long ‘go.  He’s a playin’ wif a ax an’ I lay my finguh on de do’-sill an’ I say, ’Verman, chop ‘er off!’ So Verman he chop ’er right spang off up to de roots!  Yessuh.”

“What for?”

“Jes’ fo’ nothin’.”

“He hoe me hoo,” remarked Verman.

“Yessuh, I tole him to,” said Herman, “an’ he chop ‘er off, an’ ey ain’t airy oth’ one evuh grown on wheres de ole one use to grow.  Nosuh!”

“But what’d you tell him to do it for?”

“Nothin’.  I ‘es’ said it ‘at way—­an’ he jes’ chop er off!”

Both brothers looked pleased and proud.  Penrod’s profound interest was flatteringly visible, a tribute to their unusualness.

“Hem bow goy,” suggested Verman eagerly.

“Aw ri’,” said Herman.  “Ow sistuh Queenie, she a growed-up woman; she got a goituh.”