"What?"
"Reckon you are a night-bird—what we calls a night-hawk; keeps a goin' at night, you know."
"Yes—I've been going most of two nights."
"Reckon so; kinder red your eyes is. Live in Charleston, do ye?"
"No, I live in New York."
"New York—that's a good ways, yet, ain't it?"
"Yes."
"Reckon yer arter a chicken, up here."
"No."
"Ah, ha—reckon ye are."
The young woman laughed, lifted her shoulder, and looked out of the window.
"Reckon ye'll get somebody's chicken."
"I'm afraid not."
The young woman laughed again, and tossed her head.
"Oh, reckon ye will—ah, ha! But yer mustn't mind my fun."
"Not at all, not at all. Where did you come from?"
"Up here to ; g'wine hum; g'wine to stop down here, next deeper. How do you go, w'en you get to Charleston?"
"I am going on to New Orleans."
"Is New York beyond New Orleans?"
"Beyond New Orleans? Oh, no."
"In New Orleans, is't?
"What?"
"New York is somewhere in New Orleans, ain't it?"
"No; it's the other way—beyond Wilmington."
"Oh! Been pretty cold thar?"
"Yes; there was a foot and a half of snow there, last week, I hear."
