Scootie began to weep.
“I reckin I’ll hab to take my furnicher an’ move out, Figger,” she sobbed. “I kinder hoped I could live wid Popsy an’ take keer of him, an’ make him happy in his ole age—but all dat wus too much luck fer Scootie!”
“’Twouldn’t be mo’ dan you deserve, Scootie,” Figger said in a pleading tone. “An’ I b’lieve you an me could fix it up so dat it wouldn’t be onpossible!”
“How?” Scootie asked.
“Leave dem mules standin’ here in de shade, go wid me to de cotehouse an’ git some weddin’ licenses, an’ git Vinegar Atts to marrify us!” Figger suggested.
Scootie promptly hit the ground with both feet, landing by the side of Figger Bush.
“Come on, honey!” she said, seizing him by the hand. “Less go quick!”
“Kin I go, too?” Little Bit, the driver of the second wagon asked in a whining tone. No answer was given to him, so he jumped down and followed.
From the top of the hill, they looked down to where the red brick court-house baked in the summer sun. Side by side they started toward the court-house, and the new life.
On the other side of the hill, sole guardian of the grand old man in the cabin, the mocking-bird sat in the pecan tree and sang its song of love.