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Cranceford would sit, hours at a time; and never did she show an impatience of his long lapses of silence nor of his monotonous professions of faith in the run-away. And upon taking his leave he would never fail to say: "I believe we'll hear from her to-morrow; I am quite sure of it."

The Major stoutly opposed this, pleaded with her after she had seated herself in the buggy, clutched the spoke of a muddy wheel as if he would hold her back. She took the lines from her mother, tossed them upon the horse, folded her arms, and in silence waited. "John, dear," said Mrs. Cranceford, "let us drive on. There, please don't attract the attention of those people.

And be it known that the report now reaches here that the atrocity did not cease with the firing on of the sheriff's posse, but that a sharp fight afterward took place between negroes and white men near by; and we are now informed that a strong force of negroes, at the instance of one Mayo, is now gathering in the southwestern part of the county, preparatory to a march upon this, the seat of the county of Cranceford.

A few moments later he asked for Tom and was told that he had just left the house. He tried to read, but nothing interested him. There was nothing but dullness in the newspaper and even Ivanhoe had lost his charm. It was nearly three o'clock when Mrs. Cranceford returned. He did not ask whither she had gone; he waited to be told. She sat down, taking off her gloves. "Did you see Mr.

With an inarticulate note of astonishment she fled to her room, to prepare herself for the journey, and the Major loudly commanded the carriage to be brought out. Lanterns flashed across the yard, under the streaming trees, and flickered in the gale that howled about the barn. Pale, impatient, and wrapped in a waterproof, Mrs. Cranceford stood at the front doorway.

And old Gid, with his mouth solemnly set, but with his eyes still bulging, arose, folded his arms, bowed with deep reverence, and thus paid his respects: "Sunshine, gathered from the slopes of long ago, your slave." Mrs. Cranceford stepped in to look for something, and the play improvised by these two old boys was broken short off.

"Are you going to leave me?" he asked, following her. "Yes. Mother will tell you all that is to be told." She went out and closed the door. The Major walked softly up and down the room, listening, but he heard nothing save the creaking of the house and the moaning of the wind in the old plum thicket. A long time passed, and then Mrs. Cranceford entered. Her eyes were wet with tears.

Uncle Gideon, I'm afraid you've been putting too much new wine into an old bottle." "Soft, Jimmie; it was old liquor, sixty years at least. But I gad, it strikes me that you are pretty glib to-night. You must have heard something." "No, not since Mrs. Cranceford got the letter, but that was enough to last me a good while." "Didn't hear about my bereavement, did you?"

Let's see what old Billy has to say." And now having put on his spectacles, he read aloud the following: "Marcus T. Berry, sheriff of this the county of Cranceford, in the State of Arkansas, did on this day seek to break up a den of negro gamblers at Sassafras, in the before mentioned county of Cranceford, and State as above set forth, and while in the discharge of his duty, was then and there fired upon and so desperately wounded that in his home in the town of Brantly, seat of the said county of Cranceford, State as before mentioned, he now lies at the point of death.

During the day Mrs. Cranceford was calm and brave, but many a time in the night the Major heard her crying. Every Sunday afternoon Jim Taylor's tread was heard on the porch. To the Major he talked of various things, of the cotton which was nearly all picked, of the weakening or strengthening tendency of the market, but when alone with Mrs. Cranceford his talk began and ended with Louise.