"He air, sarting."
"Goodness! an' who tole ye?"
"Thet banker, down ther' at town, Mr. Noble, he tole me. Hit wer' a feller 'at broke jail 'at done hit, a outdacious murderer, down yer at some other town, 'at wer a goin' ter be hung, an' some friend of his'n helped 'im ter break jail an' give 'im a pistol, an' he put out through the country. Hit seems, f'om what thet banker down yer says, 'at the Colonel were a galivantin' off to some lonesome ole house wi' a widder 'oman, 'an thet feller he wer in ther an' jes' shot 'im down."
"Goodness alive! Hit didn't kill 'im? The Colonel he hain't dead?"
"No, not dead, but he air bad off. He air laid up in bed. He hev got a hole through 'im."
Mrs. White began filling her pipe with great energy, her husband following her example. There was a space of silence, then he said:
"We hev got ter lie ter Milly fer all that's out. Hit'll never do fer her ter know it 'at the Colonel's hurt. She'd go 'stracted."
"She mought jest as well. Hit air no use er foolin', he's not goin' ter hev 'er."
"Hev her! Hev her! w'at upon the airth are ye talkin' 'bout?"
"She loves 'im."