"What d'you want?" he demanded.
"I want dat young step-gal of you-all's," she answered with dignity. "Dey's sent fer her over home."
"The hell they have," Tom exclaimed, with a leer.
"Yas, sah," she replied, secretly frightened, but humble and courteous before him. "I'se tol' to fetch her 'foh de trouble lands on you."
Tom paled. So they had changed their minds! He cursed his drunken folly for having tried to bluff two gentlemen of their stamp, and Mrs. Hewlet set up a wail of lamentation—as she would have done upon any provocation whatsoever, real or fancied. Nancy alone stood apparently unmoved before this blow, but her eyes had closed as though to shut out a horrible, approaching humiliation.
"What d'you mean?" Tom demanded huskily.
He was leaning against the table for support, licking his lips and staring. And in meeting this stare the old negress lost her own fright, for she saw a man thoroughly cowered and conquered.
"What d'you mean?" he again asked.
"I don' mean nuthin'," she declared, "'cept dat I knows when dem big jail dohs down dar at Frankfo't shets, dey's gwine stay shet a long time, dat's all. Make haste, chile, an' git in mah buggy 'foh I busts you one;—an' Mrs. Hewlet, dat screetchin' ain' gwine help none!"
Holding back the door for Nancy to pass, Timmie watched with grim satisfaction Tom's exit from the kitchen; and after they reached the buggy, both kept their eyes on him as he tramped through the orchard and disappeared over the hill. The black frame now began to shake.