"Are we nearly home?" asked the little girl, rubbing her eyes.
"'Most," answered the Deacon. "Are ye hungry?"
"I got her some bread and milk at a farm-house," explained McAllister, "but none of us have had any breakfast yet."
"Wall, I reckon Miss Higgins'll be prepared for ye," said the Deacon. "She's a liberal woman an' a smart woman, but all the same, the farm's going to be sold for taxes next week."
Abby had fallen asleep, but the clubman started and looked anxiously at her at this piece of intelligence.
"She don't know nuthin' about it," said the farmer. "Miss Higgins can't run a hard-scrabble farm, nor no one can and make a livin' out'n it. It ain't worth five dollars an acre."
"What will she do?" asked the clubman.
"Darn ef I know," responded the other. "She kin help around some, I guess. Deacon Giddings has a powerful lot of company. 'N any woman kin sew. She kin make out, I reckon."
"But the child?" whispered McAllister.
"Her Uncle Moses'll hev to take her," answered the Deacon.