"No, thank you."
They returned to the veranda. "Won't you sit down?" the old woman asked.
"No, I've but a few moments to stay. By the way, some time ago I met a man who said that he had lived here when a child. I was trying to think of his name. Oh, it was a man named Henry DeGolyer, I believe. Do you remember him?"
"Yes, but it was a long time ago. I heard somebody say that he lived in the city here, but he never came out to see us. Oh, yes, I remember him. He was a stupid little thing, but that didn't keep him from being mean. He oughtn't to have been taken in here, for he had a father."
"Did you know his father?"
"Who? John DeGolyer? I reckon I did, and he wa'n't no manner account, nuther. He had sense enough, but he throw himself away with liquor. He painted a picture of my youngest sister, and everybody said that it favored her mightily, but John wa'n't no manner account."
"Do you remember his wife?"
"Not much. He married a young creature down the river and broke her heart, folks said."
"Did you ever see her?"
His voice had suddenly changed, and the old woman looked sharply at him.