"He nevah let on what-all was the fuss. Likely he told Cass, but she is that still. Hit's right hard to raise a blood feud thar when we-uns an' the Teasleys alluz war friends. She took keer o' me when my chillen come, an' I took keer o' her with hern. Ferd'nan' too, he war like my own, fer I nursed him when she had the fever an' her milk lef' her. Cass war only three weeks old then, an' he war nigh on a year, but that little an' sickly—he like to 'a' died if I hadn't took him." She paused and wiped away a tear that trickled down the furrow of her thin cheek. "If hit war lef' to us women fer to stir 'em up, I reckon thar wouldn't be no feuds, fer hit's hard on we-uns when we're friendly, an' Ferd like my own boy that-a-way."
"But perhaps—" David spoke musingly—"perhaps it was a woman who stirred up the trouble between them."
The widow looked a moment with startled glance into his face, then turned her gaze away. "I reckon not. The' is no woman far or near as I evah heern o' Frale goin' with."
Still pondering, David rose to go, but quickly resumed his seat, and turned her thoughts again to the past. He would not leave her thus sad at heart.
"Won't you finish telling me about the spelling-book?"
"I forget how come hit, but maw didn't leave we chillen to Teasleys' that day she went to do the washin'. Likely Miz Teasley war sick—anyway she lef' us here. She baked corn-bread—hit war all we had in the house to eat them days, an' she fotched water fer the day, an' kivered up the fire. Then she locked the door an' took the key with her, an' tol' we-uns did we hear a noise like anybody tryin' to get in, to go up garret an' make out like thar wa'n't nobody to home. The' war three o' us chillen. I war the oldest. We war Caswells, my fam'ly. My little brothah Whitson, he war sca'cely more'n a baby, runnin' 'round pullin' things down on his hade whar he could reach, an Cotton war mos' as much keer—that reckless."
She paused and smiled as she recalled the cares of her childhood, then wandered on in her slow narration. "They done a heap o' things that day to about drive me plumb crazy, an' all the time we was thinkin' we heered men talkin' or horses trompin' outside, an' kep' ourselves right busy runnin' up garret to hide.
"Along towa'ds night hit come on to snow, an' then turned to rain, a right cold hard rain, an' we war that cold an' hungry—an' Whit, he cried fer maw,—an' hit come dark an' we had et all the' war to eat long before, so we had no suppah, an' the poor leetle fellers war that cold an' shiverin' thar in the dark—I made 'em climb into bed like they war, an' kivered 'em up good, an' thar I lay tryin' to make out like I war maw, gettin' my arms 'round both of 'em to oncet. Whit cried hisself to sleep, but Cotton he kep' sayin' he heered men knockin' 'round outside, an' at last he fell asleep, too. He alluz war a natch'ly skeered kind o' child.
"Then I lay thar still, list'nin' to the rain beat on the roof, an' thinkin' would maw ever get back again, an' list'nin' to hear her workin' with the lock—hit war a padlock on the outside—an' thar I must o' drapped off to sleep that-a-way, fer I didn't hear nothin', no more until I woke up with a soft murmurin' sound in my ears, an' thar I seed maw. The rain had stopped an' hit war mos' day, I reckon, with a mornin' moon shinin' in an' fallin' on her whar she knelt by the bed, clost nigh to me. I can see hit now, that long line o' white light streamin' acrost the floor an' fallin' on her, makin' her look like a white ghost spirit, an' her two hands held up with that thar book 'twixt 'em.
"I knew hit war maw, fer I'd seed her pray before, but I war skeered fer all that. I lay right still an' held my breath, an' heered her thank the Lord fer keerin' fer we-uns whilst she war gone, an' fer 'lowin' her to get that thar book.