"Benny—" A note of fear shook through the words. "You wouldn't—wouldn't—go?"
He waited a moment before he answered her.
"If you ain't wanting me to go—; I'll stay. Gawd! I guess I plain got to—stay."
"That's a good boy, Benny. You won't never be sorry—nohow—I promise you!—I'll be making it up to you. Honest, I will!—There's lots of ways—I'll—!"
He interrupted her.
"Only, maw—; I won't let it come after me. If it beckons I—got—to—go—!"
She gave a sudden laugh that trailed off uncertainly.
"'Tain't going to beckon, Benny."
"It if beckons, maw—"
"'Tain't going to, Benny. 'Tain't nothing but the wind that moves it. It's just the wind, sure. Mebbe you got a touch of fever. Mebbe you better go on to bed. You'll be all right in the morning. Just you wait and see. You're a good boy, Benny. You'll never go off and leave your maw and the farm. You're a fine lad, Benny."