“Yes, Mammy, you are right, our loved ones should rest together, I will see that you go back home.”
“Oh, my chile!”—she caught her breath in a sob of joy, “God A’mighty bless you, God A’mighty bless you!”
“Don’t excite yourself, I shall stay until you are well, or better.” Cherokee stooped and patted her tenderly.
“My chile’s dun come to kyar ole mammy home,” she repeated again and again, until at last, exhausted from joy, she fell asleep.
Tildy and the young white lady kept a still watch, broken only by stalled cattle that mooed forth plaintive pleadings.
CHAPTER IX. A KENTUCKY STOCK FARM.
Cheerless winter days were gone. Spring had grown bountiful at last, though long; like a miser