She had been preparing herself for the piteous spectacle of his frantic fright, his futile reliance on them who had always befriended him, his callow forlorn helplessness, his tears, his reproaches; she dreaded them.
He was silent for a reflective moment when she had paused. “But what's he want with me, Cap'n?” he suddenly demanded. “Mought know I warn't industrious in the field, ez he seen me off a-fiddlin' in the woods whilst Neighbor war a-ploughin'.”
“Mebbe he 'lows he mought make ye industrious an' git cornsider'ble work out'n ye,” she faltered, flinching for him.
After another refreshing gulp from the gourd he canvassed this dispassionately. “Say his own chil'n air 'hearty feeders an' hard on shoe-leather?' Takes a good deal o' goadin' ter git ploughin' enough fur the wuth o' feed out'n a toler'ble beastis like old Blaze-face thar, don't it, Neighbor?—an' how is it a-goin' ter be with a human ez mebbe will hold back an' air sot agin plough-in' ennyhow, an' air sorter idle by profession? 'Twould gin him a heap o' trouble—more'n the ploughin' an' sech would be wuth—a heap o' trouble.” Once more he bowed his head to the gourd.
“He 'lowed ye shouldn't dwell no mo' in the tents o' sin. He seen the fiddle, Lee; it's all complicated with the fiddle,” she quavered, very near tears of vexation.
He lifted a smiling moonlit face; his half-suppressed laugh echoed gurglingly in the gourd. “Cap'n,” he said, reassuringly, “jes let's hear Uncle Nehemiah talk some mo', an' ef I can't see no mo' likely work fur me 'n ploughin', I'll think myself mighty safe.”
They felt like three conspirators as after supper they drew their chairs around the fire with the unsuspicious Uncle Nehemiah. However, Nehemiah Yerby could hardly be esteemed unsuspicious in any point of view, so full of vigilant craft was his intention in every anticipation, so slyly sanctimonious was his long countenance.
There could hardly have been a greater contrast than Tyler Sudley's aspect presented. His candid face seemed a mirror for his thought; he had had scant experience in deception, and he proved a most unlikely novice in the art. His features were heavy and set; his manner was brooding and depressed; he did not alertly follow the conversation; on the contrary, he seemed oblivious of it as his full dark eyes rested absently on the fire. More than once he passed his hand across them with a troubled, harassed manner, and he sighed heavily. For which his co-conspirators could have fallen upon him. How could he be so dull, so forgetful of all save the fear of separation from the boy whom he had reared, whom he loved as his own son; how could he fail to know that a jaunty, assured mien might best serve his interests until at any rate the blow had fallen; why should he wear the insignia of defeat before the strength of his claim was tested? Assuredly his manner was calculated to greatly reinforce Nehemiah Yerby's confidence, and to assist in eliminating difficulties in the urging of his superior rights and the carrying out of his scheme. Mrs. Sudley's heart sank as she caught a significant gleam from the boy's eyes; he too appreciated this disastrous policy, this virtual surrender before a blow was struck.
“An' Ty ain't afeard o' bars,” she silently commented, “nor wolves, nor wind, nor lightning, nor man in enny kind o' a free fight; but bekase he dun'no' how the law stands, an' air afeard the law mought be able ter take Lee-yander, he jes sets thar ez pitiful ez a lost kid, fairly ready ter blate aloud.”
She descried the covert triumph twinkling among the sparse light lashes and “crow-feet” about Nehemiah's eyes as he droned on an ever-lengthening account of his experiences since leaving the county.