Then she lowered her voice into a whisper, and glanced furtively toward the door. “You favor yore father—I don’t mean Sam, but Mr. Laramore. Yore as like as two peas. He helt his head that away, an’ had yore way o’ bein’ gentle with womenfolks. You’ve got his high temper, too. La, me! that last night you was at home, an’ Sam cussed you, an’ kicked yore books into 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’ Sam couldn’t git along. Yore father was a different sort of a man, Luke; he loved books an’ study, like you. He had good blood in ‘im; his father was a teacher an’ a circuit-rider. I don’t know why I married Sam, ’less it was ’kase I was young an’ helpless, an’ you was a baby.”
There was a low whimper in her voice, and the lines about her mouth tightened. Lara-more’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 blissful smile lighted her wan face. Then her lips began to quiver, and she turned her face from him.
“I’m er simpleton,” she sobbed, “but I cayn’t he’p it. Nobody hain’t petted me nur tuk on over me a bit sence yore paw died. I never treated you right, nuther, Luke; I ort never to ‘a’ let Sam run over you like he did.”
“Never mind that,” Laramore replied, tenderly; “but you must not lie here in this dingy hole; you need medicine and good food.”
“I’m gwine ter git up,” she answered. “I’m not sick; I jest laid down ter rest. I must git the house straight. Mary and Jane hain’t no hands at housework ‘thout I stand over ‘em, and Jake an’ his paw is continually a-fussin’. I feel stronger already; ef you ’ll go in t’other room I ‘ll rise. They ’ll never fix you nothin’ ter eat, nur nowhar to sleep. I reckon you ’ll have to lie with Jake, like you useter, tel I can fix better. Things is in a awful mess sence I got porely.”
He went into the front room. The old man had brought his satchel in. He had opened it in a chair, and was coolly examining the contents in the firelight. Jake and the two girls stood looking on. Laramore stared at the old man, but the latter did not seem at all abashed. Finally he closed the satchel and put it on the floor.
In a few minutes Mrs. King came in. She blew out the candle, and as she crossed to the mantelpiece she carefully extinguished the smoking wick. The change in her was more noticeable to her son than it had been a few minutes before. She looked very frail and white in her faded black cotton gown. Her shoes were worn and her bare feet showed through the holes.
“Mary,” she asked, “have you put on the supper?”
“Yes’m; but it hain’t tuk up yit.” The girl went into the next room, which was used for kitchen and dining-room in one, and her mother followed her. In a few minutes the old woman came to the door.
“Walk out, all of you,” she said, wearily. “Luke, you ’ll have to put up with what is set before you; hog-meat is mighty sca’ce this yeer. Just at fattenin’ time our hogs tuk the cholera an’ six was found dead in one day. Meat is fetchin’ fifteen cents a pound in town.”