"I have. You done a heap mo'n you reckoned on. When Marthy heered o' the
killin', she jes' drapped whar she stood. She war out doin' work 'at
you'd ought to 'a' been doin' fer her, an' she hain't moved sence. She
like to 'a' perished lyin' out thar. Pore little Hoyle, he run all the
way to our place he war that skeered, an' 'lowed she war dade, an' me
an' the ol' man went ovah, an' thar we found her lyin' in the yard, an'
the cow war lowin' to be milked, an' the pig squeelin' like hit war
stuck, fer hunger. Hit do make me clar plumb mad when I think how you
hev acted,--jes' like you' paw. Ef he'd nevah 'a' started that thar
still, you'd nevah 'a' been what ye be now, a-drinkin' yer own whiskey
at that. Come on home with me."

"I reckon I'm bettah hyar. They mount be thar huntin' me."

"I know you're hungerin'. I got suthin' ye can eat, but I 'lowed if
you'd come, I'd get you an' the ol' man a good chick'n fry." She took
from her stores, slung over the nag, a piece of corn-bread and a large
chunk of salt pork, and gave them into his hand. "Thar! Eat. Hit's
heart'nin'."

He was suffering, as she thought, and reached eagerly for the food, but
before tasting it he looked up again into her face, and the infantile
appeal had returned to his eyes.

"Tell me more 'bouts maw," he said.

"You eat, an' I'll talk," she replied. He broke a large piece from the
corn-cake and crowded the rest into his pocket. Then he drew forth a
huge clasp-knife and cut a thick slice from the raw salt pork, and
pulling a red cotton handkerchief from his belt, he wrapped it around
the remainder and held it under his arm as he ate.

"She hain't able to move 'thout hollerin', she's that bad hurted. Paw
an' I, we got her to bed, an' I been thar ever since with all to do
ontwell Cass come. Likely she done broke her hip."

"Is Cass thar now? Hu' come she thar?" Again the blood sought his
cheeks.

"Paw rode down to the settlement and telegrafted fer her. Pore thing!
You don't reckon what-all you have done. I wisht you'd 'a' took aftah
your maw. She war my own sister, 'nd she war that good she must 'a' went
straight to glory when she died. Your paw, he like to 'a' died too that
time, an' when he married Marthy Merlin, I reckoned he war cured o' his
ways; but hit did'n' last long. Marthy, she done well by him, an' she
done well by you, too. They hain't nothin' agin Marthy. She be'n a good
stepmaw to ye, she hev, an' now see how you done her, an' C