"What you want, ma?" The nearness of the speaker in the adjoining room betrayed the fact that she had been listening.
"I can't see my hand before me," answered the old woman. "I wish you'd fetch a light here. You'll find a stub of a candle in the clock under the turpentine-bottle. I hid it thar so as to have some'n' to read the Book with Sunday night if any preacher happened to drop in to hold family worship."
The girl lighted the bit of tallow-dip and braced it upright in a cracked teacup with some bits of stone. She brought it in, placed it on a dry-goods box filled with cotton-seed and ears of corn, and shambled out. King's heart sank as he looked around him in the dim light. The room was only a lean-to shed walled with slabs driven into the ground and floored with puncheons. The bedstead was a crude, wooden frame supported by perpendicular saplings fastened to floor and rafters. The irregular cracks in the wall were filled with mud, rags, and newspapers. Bunches of dried herbs, roots, and red peppers hung above his head, and piles of clothing, earth-dyed and worn to shreds, and agricultural implements lay about indiscriminately. Disturbed by the light, a hen flew from her nest behind a dismantled cloth-loom, and with a loud cackling ran out at the door. There was a square cat-hole in the wall, and through it a lank, half-starved cat crawled and came purring and rubbing against the young man's ankle.
The old woman shaded her eyes and gazed at him eagerly. "You hain't altered so overly much," she observed, "'cept your skin looks mighty fair fer a man, and yore hands feel soft."
Then she lowered her voice into a cautious whisper, and glanced furtively towards the door. "You favor your father—I don't mean Mark, but your own daddy. You are as like him as can be. He helt his head that away, an' had yore habit o' being gentle with women-folks. You've got his high temper, too. La me! that last night you was at home, an' Mark cussed you an' kicked yore writin'-paper in the fire, I didn't sleep a wink. I thought you'd gone off to borrow a gun. It was almost a relief to know you'd left, kase I seed you an' him couldn't git along. Your father was a different sort of a man, Luke, and sometimes I miss 'im sharp. He loved books an' study like you do. He had good blood in 'im; his father was a teacher an' circuit-rider. I don't know why I married Mark, unless it was kase I was afraid of bein' sent to the poor-farm, but, la me! this is about as bad."
There was a low whimper in her voice, and the lines about her mouth had tightened. King's breast heaved, and he suddenly put out his hand and began to stroke her thin, gray hair. A strange, restful feeling stole over him. The spell was on her, too; she closed her eyes and a satisfied smile lighted her wan face. Then her lips began to quiver, and she quickly turned her face from him.
"I'm a simpleton," she sobbed, "but I can't help it. Nobody hain't petted me nor tuck on over me a bit since your pa died. I never treated you right, neither, Luke. I ort never to 'a' let Mark run over you like he did."
"Never mind that," King said. "He and I have already made friends; but you must not lie in this dingy hole; you need medicine, and good, warm food."
"Oh, I'm goin' to git up," she answered, lightly. "I'm not sick, Luke. I jest laid down awhile to rest. I have to do this nearly every evening. I must git the house straight. Mary an' Jane hain't no hands at house-work 'thout I stand right over 'em, an' Jake an' his pa is continually a-fussing. I feel stronger already. If you'll go in t'other room I'll rise. They'll never fix you nothin' to eat nor nowhar to sleep. I reckon you'll have to lie with Jake like you used to, till I can fix better. Things has been in an awful mess since I got so porely."
He went into the front room. The old man had brought his hand-bag in. He had placed it in a chair and opened it and was coolly inspecting the contents in the firelight. Jake and the two girls stood looking on. King stared at the old man, but the latter did not seem at all abashed.