She took his hat and stick and bundle and put them away, she brought him more water, and when he declined any further service she drew her chair near him, and sat down. "You look well an’ hearty, Peggy." "Yes, I ain’t got nothin’ ter complain erbout; but you—you’re dreadful peaked, Ab," she faltered, her heart yearning over him. He drew his handkerchief across his face again, and coughed that dull, hacking little cough. "I’ve been a’mos’ dead with my liver. Low-country life didn’t agree with me, an’ I’ve been onfortunit, Peggy." "You always was onfortunit, Ab. Me an’ Upchurch have jes’ been a-talkin’ of the many times you come nigh ter losin’ yer life when er boy, let erlone the war an’ sence the war. Upchurch is gone a-huntin’ now, an’ Tempy an’ the boys, they er gone over the creek ter town; but as I started ter say, it’s cur’us how some folks hev ter live, sorter holdin’ on ter life ennyhow. It’s er slippery thing at the best, somethin’ like er eel that’ll slip through yer fingers jest when you’re shore you’ve got it" (ending with a sigh). "I’ve had my sheer er bad luck now, shorely," said Dyer wearily. "Then you must be a-lookin’ out for the good," said his sister more cheerfully. The deep dejection, the utter hopelessness of tone and appearance troubled her—took away something from her joy. She grew anxious to see him brighten up, raise his head, and speak with animation. She could not keep her eyes off him. His vagabond appearance, his evident ill health roused all her sisterly love, her womanly compassion. Oh, what a hard life he must have lived to be so changed! He had been a weak and ailing child, and odd, extremely odd, in all his ways. She, being the eldest, had watched over him, and had learned to know him better than any one else did, but she never expected to see him so unkempt, neglected, and broken down. "Oh, brother, what’ve you been a-doin’ with yourself?" she said abruptly, her eyes filling up again. "A-roamin’ up an’ down the world. Lately I’ve be’n livin’ down in southwest Georgia. I married there," he replied. "Law! you did? Where is your wife?" "Dead, an’ so is my little gal. She was er peart little thing," and he turned his head away, swallowing audibly, as though something choked him. "I wish you could ’a’ seed her, Peggy," he continued after a slight pause. "An’ I wish it too, Ab. Can’t you tell me erbout her?" she said gently, and with deep sympathy. "She was the smartest little creetur I ever saw, an’ knowed the mos’ for her age. She use’ ter run an’ meet me when I come in, an’ the fust thing ’ud be, ’Daddy, I love you; do you love me?’ Then she’d put her arms round my neck an’ lay her face up close ter mine. Then when she got bigger, she was always a-wantin’ ter help me, an’ I never axed for better comp’ny than my little Sary Jane. O Lord! if she’d only ’a’ lived. It fairly tuk the life outen me to see her—to see her—" His head dropped on his breast, and again he was silent.