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."