“I told Aunt Dilly to let me wait on you,” she said, a note of sympathy creeping into her voice. “I was sorry I couldn't get out to the funeral yesterday. I've got Jackie to watch now, an' he's just gettin' on his feet, after his spell. His mother ain't a bit well, either; she ain't touched hardly a bite since he was so bad off. I think she ought to go to Atlanta to consult a special doctor, but Jim won't hear to it. He says, when a body gits too sick for home treatment their natural time's come, anyway, an' the money would be throwed away. I wish I could tell you how sorry I am about your pa. I know how much you both thought of each other. La, he used to come here while you was choppin' wood on the mountain, an' set in the kitchen door an' talk an' talk with tears in his old eyes about how sorry he was not to be stronger, so you wouldn't have to work so hard. He said you was the best boy that ever lived. Now, I'm just goin' to shet up,” Mrs. Tilton said, regretfully. “I see you are about to cry.” She went to the window quickly and looked out into the yard. “I see Jackie makin' his mud-pies. Oh,” she turned to Paul, “thar's something I wanted to say. You left your gun here t'other day. It's loaded, an' I don't like to see it around. Jackie might git hold of it. I wish you would take it home.” “I'll take it to work with me now,” Paul promised, “and take it home from there.” Paul toiled diligently that afternoon till the sun was down. He had just come out of the water, put on his shoes, and with his gun under his arm was starting home, when Hoag appeared on the embankment of the race and surveyed the work which had been done. “Good, good; prime, prime!” he said, approvingly. “You've done as much as a couple of buck niggers would have done in twice the time. Keep up that lick an' you 'll reach the sluice earlier than I counted on. I won't split hairs with you on the pay for this job. If it goes through at this rate I'll tack on something extra.” Paul said nothing. He tried to feel grateful for the praise he had received, but he was too tired in body and mind to care for anything. Throughout the long day he had constantly deliberated over the thought that it would now be impossible for him to continue the life he was leading. With the death of his father his heart and soul seemed to have died. Hoag joined him as he walked homeward, the gun under his arm.