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Updated: May 31, 2025
But Polly had heard Cavendish speak, and the murmur of Yancy's voice in reply. Now her head appeared beside her husband's, and Yancy saw that she was rosy and smiling, and that her claim to good looks was something that could not well be denied. "La, you are some better, ain't you, sir?" she cried, smiling down on him. "How did I get here, and where's my nevvy?" questioned Yancy anxiously.
While she was gone for the whisky, Connie, who had squatted down beside the bed, touched Yancy's hand which lay open. Instantly his fingers closed about hers and he was silent; the movement of his head ceased abruptly; but when she sought to withdraw her hand he began to murmur again. "I declare, what he wants is some one to sit beside him!" said Mrs.
"Of course he don't; he's a high-spirited, right-actin' gentleman. But what do you reckon he'd feel obliged to do if a body stole one of you-all?" inquired Yancy. "Whoop! He'd carve 'em deep!" cried Keppel. At this moment Mrs. Cavendish appeared, bringing Yancy's breakfast.
Yancy's bearded lips, in the midst of which relations were established between the mule and cart, and the boy quitted the Barony for a new world. "Do you reckon if Uncle Bob was to let you, you could drive, sonny?" "Can she gallop?" asked the boy. Mr. Yancy gave him a hurt glance. "She's too much of a lady to do that," he said.
The Tennessee are a twister; mebby it will be Kentucky; mebby it will be Illinoy, and mebby it will be down yonder on the Mississippi. My tribe like this way of moving about, and it certainly favors a body's legs." "How old was your nevvy?" inquired Polly, reading the troubled look in Yancy's gray eyes. "Ten or thereabouts, ma'am.
Yancy instantly surmised that the reference was to Slosson. "I reckon I'll feel obliged to just naturally skin him," he explained. "Sho', will he let you do that?" they demanded. "He won't be consulted none. And his hide will come off easy once I get hold of him by the scruff of the neck." Yancy's speech was gentle and his lips smiling, but he meant a fair share of what he said.
"Do you mean, sir, that I been unconscious for a spell?" suggested Yancy rather fearfully, glancing from one to the other. "It's been right smart of a spell, too; yes, sir, you've laid like you was dead, and not fo' a matter of hours either but days." "How long?" "Well, nigh on to three weeks." They saw Yancy's eyes widen with a look of dumb horror.
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.
Polly and the children hung breathlessly on Mr. Yancy's reply. "I certainly have," he rejoined promptly. "Back in No'th Carolina we went by the chimneys." "Chimneys? What's chimneys got to do with titles, Mr. Yancy?" asked Polly, while her husband appeared profoundly mystified. "A whole lot, ma'am.
You-all will just go on living with him." "But what about you, Uncle Bob?" cried Hannibal, lifting a wistful little face to Yancy's. "Oh, me? well, you-all will go right on living with me." "And what will come of Mr. Mahaffy?" "I reckon you-all will go right on living with him, too." "Uncle Bob, you mean you reckon we are all going to live in one house?"
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