"I'm holdin' up your fence, to rest a spell. I've given my ankle a twist somehow."
Hetty ran out into the storm, and the wind lashed strands of hair into her eyes. She stretched a hand over the fence, and laid it on the man's shoulder.
"Who be you?" she demanded.
He laughed.
"I'll tell you, if you won't bat me for it. I'm your own nephew, near as I can make out."
"Susan's son?"
"Yes. Much as my life's worth, ain't it? Never saw anything like you an' mother when you get fightin',—reg'lar old barnyard fowls."
She gripped his shoulder tightly. Her voice had a sob in it, and a prayer.
"You got anything for me?"
He answered wonderingly.