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Both carried rifles and both were dressed in coarse homespun. "Morning, sir," said the man with the scar. "Yancy's my name, and this gentleman 'lows he'd rather be known now as Mr. Cavendish." The judge started to his feet. "Bob Yancy?" he cried. "Yes, sir, that's me." The judge passed nimbly around the desk and shook the Scratch Hiller warmly by the hand.
The young tourist he signed W. W. Norcross in Yancy's register watched her closely and listened to every word she spoke with an intensity of interest which led Mrs. Yancy to say, privately: "'Pears like that young 'lunger' ain't goin' to forgit you if he can help it." "What makes you think he's a 'lunger'?" "Don't haf to think. One look at him is enough."
Yancy's story, children, is to teach us how important it is to guard our words and not give way to hasty speech " "Betty!" cried Mrs. Ferris indignantly. "Judith, the moral is as obvious as it is necessary." Mrs. Ferris gave her a reproachful look and turned to the children. "You will all be here next Sunday, won't you? and at the same hour?" she said, rising.
"Leggo them horses!" said Mr. Blount, recovering somewhat from the effect of Yancy's sudden appearance. "Light down, Nevvy," said Yancy, still pleasantly. Blount turned to the boy as if to interfere. "Don't you put the weight of yo' finger on the boy, Blount!" warned Yancy. "Light down, Hannibal!" Hannibal instantly availed himself of the invitation.
They were shy enough and timid enough, these remote dwellers in the pine woods, but, like all wild things, when they felt they were cornered they were prone to fight; and in this instance it was clearly iniquitous that Bob Yancy's right to smack Dave Blount should be questioned. That denied what was left of human liberty.
He found himself looking into a pair of eyes that for the first time in many a long day held the light of consciousness. "How are you, stranger?" he demanded, in a soft drawl. "Where am I?" the words were a whisper on Yancy's bearded lips. "Well, sir, you are in the Tennessee River fo' certain; my wife will make admiration when she hears you speak. Polly! you jest step here."
Bladen heartless and his course without justification, and she regarded Yancy's affection for the boy as in itself constituting a benefit that quite outweighed his unprogressive example. "You are not going to lose your nephew, are you, Mr. Yancy?" she asked eagerly, when Yancy stood at her side. "No, ma'am."
"What's all this here fuss between you and Bob Yancy?" demanded the squire when he had administered the oath to Blount. Mr. Blount's statement was brief and very much to the point. He had been hired by Mr. Bladen, of Fayetteville, to go to Scratch Hill and get the boy who had been temporarily placed in Yancy's custody at the time of General Quintard's death.
Yancy's name had been given her as that of a resident of weight and influence in the classic region of Scratch Hill. Miss Malroy came to her friend's rescue. "Mrs. Ferris thinks the children should have a chance to learn at home. Poor little tots! they can't walk ten or fifteen miles to Sunday-school, now can they, Mr. Yancy?" "Bless yo' heart, they won't try to!" said Yancy reassuringly.
Cavendish, who had returned with the whisky, a few drops of which she managed to force between Yancy's lips. All the rest of that day some one of the children sat beside the wounded man, who was quiet and satisfied just as long as there was a small hand for him to hold. "He must be a family man," observed Mr. Cavendish when Polly told him of this.
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