But I never go near that dove cote, never, the men the’d come and go, carrying things, all kinds of things into that stone building. And I’d just run, and run and I never hardly wore shoes, not hardly ever. The roads, the ones they were, was dirt. And with the rains, and the tides, ebbing and flowin’. Wasn’t hardly worth me wearing shoes, they’d be full of mud

all the time.