"May I come in, Mrs. Keith?" Mary asked, holding the gate partly open and dubiously waiting for a response. The pipe was clutched more firmly and the woman stared straight at her. "You may come in if you want to," was the caustic answer. "We don't keep no bitin' dog. I didn't 'low the likes of you would want to come, after what's happened, but if you do I can't hinder you an' Tobe hain't able to prevent it, nuther." "Who is it, mother?" came a faint voice from within the house. "Never mind, sonny, who it is," the old woman called back. "I'll tell you after awhile. Remember what the doctor said, that you must not get excited an' lift your fever." There was silence in the room behind the grim sentinel at the door, and Mary lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "Perhaps I'd better go away, Mrs. Keith," she faltered. "I thought I might see you alone. That's why I came. I don't want to disturb your son--I wouldn't, for all the world. Mrs. Keith, I am unhappy over this, too." "Huh! I don't see nothin' fer _you_ to be upset over!" sneered the old woman. "Your brothers lit out fer new fields an' pastures with money to pay expenses with, like all highfalutin folks manage to git, while us pore scrub stock o' whites has to suffer, like Tobe is thar on his back, unable to move, an' with barely enough t' eat except what neighbors send in." No seat was offered the visitor; the speaker grimly kept her chair, her stiff knees parted for the reception between them of her two gnarled rebellious hands and the clay pipe. "I came to ask--I had to come," Mary faltered, her sweet face whitened by the rising terrors within her. "I came to see if any arrangements are being made to--to--I understand the doctors advise your son's removal to Atlanta, and--"