"How's doc?"
"He's doin' right well. He's asleep now. Won't ye 'light an' come in?"
"I reckon not. Azalie, she's been alone all day, an' I guess she'll be some 'feared. Will you put that thar under doc's pillow whar he kin find hit in the mawnin'? Hit's a papah he sont me fer. Tell 'im I reckon hit's all straight. He kin see. Them people Cassandry was expectin' from Farington, did they come to-day?"
"Yas, they come. They're down to Miz Farwell's."
"Well, you tell doc 'at Azalie an' me, we'll be here 'long 'leven in the mawnin'." Hoke rode off under the winking stars, for the clouds after the long day of rain had lifted, and in the still night were rolling away over the mountain tops.
Aunt Sally slipped quietly back into the cabin and softly closed the door of the canvas room, lest the rustling of paper should waken her charge, for she meant to examine that paper, quite innocently, since she could neither read nor write, but out of sheer childish curiosity.
She need not have feared waking David, however, for, all his physical discomfort forgotten, dominated by the supreme happiness that possessed him, yet weak in body to the point of exhaustion, he slept profoundly and calmly on, even when she came stealthily and slipped the paper beneath his pillow, as Hoke had requested.