onable.

"Why, Hannibal, you are crying--what about, dear?" asked Betty suddenly.

"No, ma'am; I ain't crying," said Hannibal stoutly, but his wet lashes
gave the lie to his words.

"Are you homesick--do you wish to go back to the judge and Mr. Mahaffy?"

"No, ma'am--it ain't that--I was just thinking--"

"Thinking about what, dear?"

"About my Uncle Bob." The small face was very wistful.

"Oh--and you still miss him so much, Hannibal?"

"I bet I do--I reckon anybody who knew Uncle Bob would never get over
missing him; they just couldn't, Miss Betty! The judge is mighty kind,
and so is Mr. Mahaffy--they're awful kind, Miss Betty, and it seems like
they get kinder all the time--but with Uncle Bob, when he liked you, he
just laid himself out to let you know it!"

"That does make a great difference, doesn't it?" agreed Betty sadly, and
two piteous tearful eyes were bent upon him.

"Don't you reckon if Uncle Bob is alive, like the judge says, and
he's ever going to find me, he had ought to be here by now?" continued
Hannibal anxiously.

"But it hasn't been such a great while, Hannibal; it's only that so much
has happened to you. If he was very badly hurt it may have been weeks
before he could travel; and then when he could, perhaps he went back to
that tavern to try to learn what had become of you. But we may be
quite certain he will never abandon his search until he has made every
possible effort to find you, dear! That means he will sooner or later
come to west Tennessee, for there will always be the hope that you have
found your way here."

"Sometimes I get mighty tired waiting, Miss Betty," confessed the boy.
"Seems like I just couldn't wait no longer." He sighed gently, and then
his face cleared. "You reckon he'll come most any time, don't you, Miss
Betty?"

"Yes, Hannibal; any day or hour!"

"Whoop!" muttered Hannibal softly under his breath. Presently he asked:
"Where does that branch take you to?" He nodded toward the bayou at the
foot of the terraced bluff.

"It empties into the river," answered Betty.

Hannibal saw a small skiff beached among the cottonwoods that grew along
the water's edge and his eyes lighted up instantly. He had a juvenile
passion for boats.

"Why, you got a boat, ain't you, Miss Betty?" This was a charming and an
important discovery.

"Would you like to go down to it?" inquired Betty.

"'Deed I would! Does she leak any, Miss Betty?"

"I don't know about that. Do boats