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"No, Aunt Cornely, hit ain't strange, not a bit." "Ain't strange? Huldy child, what do you mean?" "W'y, don't you know, Aunt Cornely, ef he do Pappy that-a-way, when Pappy do so much fer him, then he don't have to be thankful.
I even tuck out the papers." That evening, the two sitting watching the little dark face in its sleep, Pap told his story. Driving across the flank of Yellow Old Bald, beyond Lost Cabin, he had passed a woman with five children sitting beside the road in Big Buck Gap. "Cornely, she looked like a picture out of a book," whispered Pap. "This chap's the livin' image of her.
Later, when John had gone to do the chores, the old doctor still sat by Cornelia's bed. He took the girl's hand in his an unusual demonstration of feeling for a mountaineer and said to her, gently, "Cornely, there won't never be no mo' there'll be nair another baby to you, honey." The stricken girl fastened her eyes upon his in dumb pain and protest.
Pastergood, I wanted mine my own and John's! Oh, I reckon it was idolatry the way I felt in my heart; I thought, to have a little trick-bone o' my bone, flesh o' my flesh look up at me with John's eyes " A sob choked her utterance, and never again was it resumed. In the years that followed, the pair already come to be called Pap Overholt and Aunt Cornely well fulfilled the old doctor's prophecy.
Cornelia, who, though mild and serene, was possessed of firmness and a sense of justice, would have had the matter fairly settled. "He ort not to cut up this-away, John," she urged. "He ort to take his little plate and behave hisse'f; 'r else he ort to be spanked, he really ort, John, in jestice to the child" But John was of another mould. "Law, Cornely! Hit's jest baby-doin's.
So she led him away ever so little away from his ever-present grief. It was the next day that he said to her, "Cornely, I p'intedly ain't gwine to suffer this hyer filchin' o' co'n them Fusons is a-keepin' up on me." "Is the Fusons a-stealin' yo' co'n, John?" she responded, in surprise. "W'y, they got a-plenty, ain't they?" "Well, no, not adzactly, that is to say, Buck Fuson ain't got a-plenty.
Besides the cause was in very good hands; Clemenceau and Vaughan, Yves Guyot and Reinach, Jaures and Gerault-Richard, Pressense, Cornely, and scores of others were fighting admirably in the Press, and his intervention was not required.
Then he looked around at all the folks, and sort o' shivered, and put his face back in my neck still ez a little possum when you've killed the old ones an' split up the tree an' drug out the nest." Both faces were wet with tears now. Pap went on: "I had the papers made right out I knowed you'd say yes, Cornely. He's Samuel Ephraim Overholt.
She said nothing, the wound was too deep; only her lips quivered pitifully and the tears ran down upon the pillow. "Now, now, honey, don't ye go to fret that-a-way. W'y, Cornely, ye was made for a mother; the Lord made ye for such an' do ye 'low 'at He don't know what He's a-gwine to do with the work of His hands?
For the old man had laboriously fetched out a rusty wolf-trap, and was now earnestly inspecting and overhauling it. "Whut am I a-gwine to do 'long o' this hyer, Cornely? W'y, I am jes p'intedly a-gwine to set it in my grain-room. Buck Fuson air a bad man, honey. There's two men's blood to his count.
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