White swallowed, as if something hurt his throat, and pressed a finger vigorously into his pipe. The muscles of his face twitched convulsively.
"Oh, I consider 'at we'd better go inter the house, Milly," he urged, "for hit air not 'tall s'posible 'at the Colonel he'll come to-night; but he air comin' shore ter-morrer, that's es sarting es gun's iron, Milly."
"Lis'n, pap, I yer somethin' like he wer' a walkin' up the road this yer way: lis'n!" She shook her hand at him in token of silence, but did not turn her head, leaning far over the gate.
"Hit ain't him, Milly, he'd be er singin' er song, ef hit wer' him. Don't ye 'member how he used ter warble them cur'us chunes when he wer' a comin'?"
"Keep still, I tell ye, pap, for I know 'at I jest do yer 'im a comin' down ther'."
"Mebbe ye do, s'pec ye do," said White with a shake of his head, "but hit air ter-morrer 'at ye yer 'im a comin'. He air dead shore to roll in ter-morrer. Don't ye fret, he air a comin' 'fore long, Milly."
"He air a comin' right now: oh!" she cried, and flinging open the gate, she slipped through like a bird and ran down the road.
"I knowed 'at ye'd come, John, oh, John! John!" White heard her say, her voice cutting with shrill sweetness through the still evening air.
He went through the gateway, and, stumbling over the wood-pile, walked rapidly after her. Sure enough, there was Reynolds in the middle of the road, with Milly clinging to him. They were in a place where the strong star-light dimly outlined them. White stopped short and actually reeled like a drunken man. He went no nearer to them, but turned and staggered rather than walked back into the cabin.
"Hit air all right, mother," he said to his wife as he entered. "He air out ther'—the Colonel air."