There ensued a half hour of storm, but at its end the older Stacy bowed to necessity. He, too, knew of the black army, and though he swore like a baffled pirate into his beard he capitulated. Bear Cat left a demolished place, carrying with him a fresh trophy, but he went with a heavy heart.
It would have surprised him had he known that, left alone, his uncle's wrath had turned suddenly to amusement for some private joke of his own.
As the old man watched the retreating figure he chuckled and mumbled to himself.
"Hit's right good fortune thet he came this week 'stid of next," he soliloquized as he refilled his pipe's bowl, still smiling. "I'm glad he didn't know I'd done ordered me a brand-new worm—an' thet hit's due ter get hyar right soon."
As he puffed at the home grown tobacco, the elder Turner Stacy added: "I reckon, though, I'd better pick out a fresh spot afore I sets ther new one up."
Since Blossom had realized her neglect of Turner's mother that day in the grave yard she had sought to make amends by many small attentions and frequent visits.
One afternoon as she came into the house, she found Mrs. Stacy, who had been bed-ridden with a deep cold, dressing herself with weak and trembling hands. The girl's face became instantly stern.
"I told ye not ter rise from yore bed ter-day," she began and the other woman dropped into a chair in pure feebleness.
"I don't seem ter hev no stren'th lef' in me," she complained. "Seems like I've got a thousand bones inside me—an' all on 'em achin'."