bide right whar ye be."

"You won't do that, mothah."

"I sure will. If David haven't sont fer ye, an' ye go, ye'll have to
walk ovah me to get thar, hear?"

The mother's voice was raised to a higher pitch than was her wont, and
the little silver pot shook in her hand. Cassandra took it and regarded
it without interest, absorbed in other thoughts. Then, throwing off her
abstraction, she began questioning her mother about it, and why she had
brought it to her now. The widow told all she knew, as she had told
David, and pointed out the half obliterated coat of arms on the side.

"I've heered your paw say 'at ther war more pieces'n this, oncet, but
this'n come straight to him from his grandpaw, an' now hit's yourn. If
he have sont fer ye, take hit with ye. Hit may be wuth more'n you think
fer now. I been told they do think a heap o' fambly ovah thar, jest like
we do here in the mounting. Leastways, hit's all we do have--some of us.
My fambly war all good stock, capable and peart; an' now heark to me.
Wharevah you go, just you hold your hade up. The' hain't nothin' more
despisable than a body 'at goes meachin' around like some old
sheep-stealin' houn' dog. Now if he sure 'nough have sont fer ye, go,
an' I'll help ye, but if he haven't, bide whar ye be."

Cassandra drew in her breath sharply, no longer able to evade the
question, with her mother's keen eyes searching her face. All her
reasons for going flashed through her mind in a moment's space of time.
The book she had been reading--what were English people really like? And
David--her David--her boy's father--what shameful things were they
saying of him all over the mountain that Frale should dare come to her
as he had done? She could not stay now; she would not. Her cheeks
flamed, and she walked silently into the canvas room and stood by her
baby's cradle. Her mother began wrapping up the silver pot.

"I guess I'll take this back an' lock hit up again. You sure hain't to
go if ye can't give me that word."

Cassandra went quickly and took it from her mother's hand. "No, mother,
give it to me. I told Frale David had sent for me, and I'm going."

"And he have sont fer ye?"

"Yes, mothah." Her reply was low as she turned again to her work.

"Waal, now, why couldn't you have give me that word first off? Hit's his
right to have ye, an' I'll he'p ye. You'd ought to go to him if he can't
come to you."

Instantly up and alert, putting bravely aside her own feelings a