“I should think he’d smother to death,” she said, “he’s drawed the Valley of the Mississippi clean over his head and he’s fast asleep.” She arranged a little breathing place for him. The old man came and stood beside her. “I helped quilt this quilt,” she went on, carefully folding it away from the face of the child, “it was the first quiltin’ party I ever went to and I took the tuck out of my frock to go. This was the first Valley of the Mississippi ever seen round yer and Missouri was mighty proud of it; she had the pattern sent from Georgy.” “Them blue pieces over there,” said the old man, “is pieces of her frock; it was a store frock; and these yer streaked pieces on this side” (he traced them with an unsteady finger), “was my wife’s. Grover Cleveland, he calls that side his, because it’s pieces of his mother’s frock, and this side mine and he won’t never get into bed till his half’s on his side.” Suly lifted a corner of the quilt into the light; “Here’s some of Carliny’s frock,” she led, but he would not follow. “I bought Grover Cleveland a pair of boots this mornin’ and he was the proudest little somebody you ever looked at. Now where is them boots at?”—he was looking under the bed—“he set ’em up right here as careful as if they was glass and they was there after he went to sleep.” This owner in fee-simple of eleven hundred acres of land, more or less, was living in one room and dishes, cooking utensils, clothing, shovels, rakes and various paraphernalia of his farming and housekeeping operations were littered about in bewildering confusion. He moved everything in his search for the boots, Arsula assisting. “Carliny’s a mighty good housekeeper,” she remarked as she shook out and hung up some wearing apparel that had been piled in a corner. “She’d make things look a heap different if she was here.” “Was he barefoot when you come acrost him?” “Yes. Carliny, she’d manage it so that poor little soul wouldn’t go caperin’ about at night.” “Them boots has taken to theirselves wings.” “I’m afraid Carliny’s goin’ to freeze to death up there this winter—or starve—one.” “Them boots had blue tops; they was Grover Cleveland’s own choice; blue always takes his eye.” “It’s time we was movin’ on, Suly,” said Thad going to the door. The girl had to stop beating the bush. “Carliny and Jakey ain’t a-doin’ any good up there, Colonel Ledbetter; they’re both a-lookin’ puny. She wants you and you want her, and Grover Cleveland, he wants her powerful, poor little soul! ’Tain’t right, nor Christian, nor human, nor common sense, nor horse sense, nor nonsense, nor any kind of sense for you to be so set. She’s your own flesh”—she stopped, awed by his steady stare at her.