"Hold your own hand, Bedney; don't be pestered about mine. I'll hoe my row; you 'tend to yourn."
Then she leaned back, plying her knitting needles, and began to chant: "Who will be the leader when the Bridegroom comes?"
Hearing the knock on the door, her voice swelled louder, and Bedney, the picture of perplexity, stood filling his pipe, when the bolt was turned, and a gentleman holding a whip and wearing a long overcoat entered the room.
"Good evening, Bedney. Are you and Dyce holding a camp meeting all by yourselves? I hallooed at the gate till your dog threatened to devour me, and I had to scare him off with my buggy whip."
"Why, how'dy, Mars Alfred? I am mighty glad to see you! Seems like old times, to shake hands with you in my cabin. Lem'me take off your overcoat, sir, and gim'me your hat, and make yourself comfortable, here by the jam of the chimbly."
"No, Bedney, I can't spare the time, and I only want a little business matter settled before I get back to town to my office. Thank you, Dyce, this is an old-time rocker sure enough. It is a regular 'Sleepy Hollow.'"
Mr. Churchill pushed back his hat, and held his gloved hand toward the fire.
"Bedney, I want to see that handkerchief you found in your master's room, the day after he was murdered."
"What hankchuf, Marse Alfred? I done tole everything I know, to the Crowner's inquess."
"I dare say you did; but something was found afterward. I want to see it."