cy?" she asked
eagerly, when Yancy stood at her side.

"No, ma'am." But his sense of elation was plainly tempered by the
knowledge that for him the future held more than one knotty problem.

"I am very glad! I know Hannibal will be much happier with you than with
any one else," and she smiled brightly at the boy, whose small sunburned
face was upturned to hers.

"I think that-a-ways myself, Miss Betty, but this trial was only for
my smacking Dave Blount, who was trying to steal my nevvy," explained
Yancy.

"I hope you smacked him well and hard!" said the girl, whose mood was
warlike.

"I ain't got no cause to complain, thank you," returned Mr. Yancy
pleasantly.

"I rode out to the Hill to say good-by to Hannibal and to you, but they
said you were here and that the trial was today."

Captain Murrell, with Crenshaw and the squire, came from the house, and
Murrell's swarthy face lit up at sight of the girl. Yancy, sensible
of the gulf that yawned between himself and what was known as "the
quality," would have yielded his place, but Betty detained him.

"Are you going away, ma'am?" he asked with concern.

"Yes--to my home in west Tennessee," and a cloud crossed her smooth
brow.

"That surely is a right big distance for you to travel, ma'am," said
Yancy, his mind opening to this fresh impression. "I reckon it's rising
a hundred miles or mo'," he concluded, at a venture.

"It's almost a thousand."

"Think of that! And you are that ca'm!" cried Yancy admiringly, as a
picture of simply stupendous effort offered itself to his mind's eye.
He added: "I am mighty sorry you are going. We-all here shall miss
you--specially Hannibal. He just regularly pines for Sunday as it is."

"I hope he will miss me a little--I'm afraid I want him to!" She glanced
down at the boy as she spoke, and into her eyes, very clear and very
blue and shaded by long dark lashes, stole a look of wistful tenderness.
She noted how his little hand was clasped in Yancy's, she realized the
perfect trust of his whole attitude toward this big bearded man, and she
was conscious of a sudden feeling of profound respect for the Scratch
Hiller.

"But ain't you ever coming back, Miss Betty?" asked Hannibal rather
fearfully, smitten with the awesome sense of impermanence which dogs our
footsteps.

"Oh, I hope so, dear--I wish to think so. But you see my home is not
here." She turned to Yancy, "So it is settled that he is to remain with
you?"

"Not ex