But this last touch of gentleness was too much for the young mulatto. Although he made an obedient step forward, his feelings overcame him and with an audible snuffle and his hand over his eyes he retreated—then turned his back and plunged through the hedge.
Mrs. Cary sank down on the step and looked as if she, too, would like to cry.
Manfully, Uncle Billy came to her rescue. "Now don't you care, Miss Hallie. He wan' no 'count for plowin' no how."
"Oh, it isn't that, Uncle Billy," Mrs. Cary replied with a low cry of regret. "It isn't the actual loss of help, tho' we need it, goodness knows. But it makes me sad to see them leaving, one by one. They are such children and so helpless—without a master hand."
"Yas'm," agreed Uncle Billy readily. "An' de marster's han' ought to have a hick'ry stick in it fer dat nigger. Yas, bless Gawd. But you got me, Miss Hallie," he announced proudly. "I ain't runned away to de blue-bellies yet."
"No, you dear old thing," Mrs. Cary cried with laughing relief, and her hand rested on his shoulder in a gentle caress. "I'd as soon think of the skies falling. It is just such faithful friends as you who help me to fight the best."
"Um?" said Uncle Billy promptly, not quite understanding.
"I mean a woman's battles, Uncle Billy—the waiting battles—that we fight alone." Mrs. Gary rose to her feet and turned sadly away.
"Yas'm," agreed Uncle Billy. "I dunno what yo' talkin' 'bout but I spec' you's right. Yas'm."
"Dear Uncle Billy," repeated Mrs. Gary, while her eyes filled with tears. "The most truthful—the most honest—"