stretched himself and hove off the blanket, and it was Miss Watson's Jim!  I bet I was glad to see him.  I says: “Hello, Jim!” and skipped out. He bounced up and stared at me wild.  Then he drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says: “Doan' hurt me--don't!  I hain't ever done no harm to a ghos'.  I alwuz liked dead people, en done all I could for 'em.  You go en git in de river agin, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at 'uz awluz yo' fren'.” Well, I warn't long making him understand I warn't dead.  I was ever so glad to see Jim.  I warn't lonesome now.  I told him I warn't afraid of _him_ telling the people where I was.  I talked along, but he only set there and looked at me; never said nothing.  Then I says: “It's good daylight.  Le's get breakfast.  Make up your camp fire good.” “What's de use er makin' up de camp fire to cook strawbries en sich truck? But you got a gun, hain't you?  Den we kin git sumfn better den strawbries.” “Strawberries and such truck,” I says. “Is that what you live on?” “I couldn' git nuffn else,” he says. “Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?” “I come heah de night arter you's killed.” “What, all that time?” “Yes--indeedy.” “And ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?” “No, sah--nuffn else.” “Well, you must be most starved, ain't you?” “I reck'n I could eat a hoss.  I think I could. How long you ben on de islan'?” “Since the night I got killed.” “No!  W'y, what has you lived on?  But you got a gun.  Oh, yes, you got a gun.  Dat's good.  Now you kill sumfn en I'll make up de fire.” So we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in a grassy open place amongst the trees, I fetched meal and bacon and coffee, and coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the nigger was set back considerable, because he reckoned it was all done with witchcraft. I catched a good big catfish, too, and Jim cleaned him with his knife, and fried him. When brea