“I can’t,” came the answer across the fence; “I’m earning me a baseball mask.  I done already earnt me a mitt.  My mama don’t never make me promise her nothing, she just pays me to be good.  That’s huccome I’m ’bout to get ’ligion and go to the mourner’s bench.  She’s gone up town now and if I don’t go outside the yard while she’s gone, she’s going to gimme a baseball mask.  You got a ball what you bringed from the plantation, and I’ll have a bat and mitt and mask and we can play ball some.  Come on over just a little while; you ain’t earning you nothing like what I’m doing.”

“Naw; I promis’ her not to an’ I ain’t ever goin’ to break my promise.”

“Well, then, Mr. Promiser,” said Jimmy, “go get your ball and we’ll th’ow ’cross the fence.  I can’t find mine.”

Billy kept his few toys and playthings in a closet, which was full of old plunder.  As he reached for his ball something fell at his feet from a shelf above.  He picked it up, and ran excitedly into the yard.

“Look, Jimmy,” he yelled, “here’s a baseball mask I found in the closet.”

Jimmy, forgetful of the fact that he was to be paid for staying at home, immediately rolled over the fence and ran eagerly toward his friend.  They examined the article in question with great care.

“It looks perzactly like a mask,” announced Jimmy after a thorough inspection, “and yet it don’t.”  He tried it on.  “It don’t seem to fit your face right,” he said.

Sarah Jane was bearing down upon them.  “Come back home dis minute, Jimmy!” she shrieked, “want to ketch some mo’ contagwous ‘seases, don’t yuh?  What dat y’ all got now?” As she drew nearer a smile of recognition and appreciation overspread her big good-natured face.  Then she burst into a loud, derisive laugh.  “What y’ all gwine to do wid Miss Minerva’s old bustle?” she enquired.  “Y’ all sho’ am de contaritest chillens in dis here copperation.”

“Bustle?” echoed Billy, “What’s a bustle?”

“Dat-ar’s a bustle—­dat’s what’s a bustle.  Ladies useto wear ’em ’cause dey so stylish to make they dresses stick out in the back.  Come on home, Jimmy, ’fore yuh ketch de yaller jandis er de epizootics; yo’ ma tol’ yuh to stay right at home.”

“Well, I’m coming, ain’t I?” scowled the little boy.  “Mama needn’t to know nothing ’thout you tell.”

“Would you take yo’ mama’s present now, Jimmy?” asked Billy; “you ain’t earnt it.”

“Wouldn’t you?” asked Jimmy, doubtfully.

“Naw, I would n’t, not ‘thout I tol’ her.”

“Well, I’ll tell her I just comed over a minute to see ’bout Miss Minerva’s bustle,” he agreed as he again tumbled over the fence.

A little negro boy, followed by a tiny, white dog, was passing by Miss Minerva’s gate.

Billy promptly flew to the gate and hailed him.  Jimmy, looking around to see that Sarah Jane had gone back to the kitchen, as promptly rolled over the fence and joined him.