"Will them men kill father if they find him?"
"S-sh!"
"Mother!" faintly ventured another little voice, "will them men kill father if they find him?"
"S-sh! S-sh! I tell ye!"
"Ma-ma! Will they kill my father?" This was the wail, insistent, uncontrolled, of the smallest child of all.
The crackling tramp of the officers, mounting the trail, had wholly died away. The woman evidently believed all immediate danger past.
"No!" she exclaimed vehemently, "they ain't goin' to lay eyes on yo' father, hair nor hide of him. Quit yer frettin'!"
In a moment she spoke again: "You keep still, now, like good children, while I go out and empty these peach-stones. I'll be back in a minute. See you keep still just where you are!"
Stealing noiselessly to the cellar door as the woman left the house, Merryfield saw her making for the woods, a basket on her arm. He watched her till the shadows engulfed her. Then he drew back to his own place and resumed his silent vigil.
Moments passed, without a sound from the room above. Then came soft little thuds on the floor, a whimper or two, small sighs, and a slither of bare legs on bare boards.