"By jings, I must have got that dispatch of yourn before you sent it. Mighty glad to see you again. But don't go down stairs yet. Everybody down there is as foolish as a chicken with his neck wrung. I tell you the Lord works things out in his own way. Sometimes we may think that we could run things better, but I don't believe we could! and, thurfore, I say, kiver to kiver. Ah, Lord, what a time we have had. Yes, sir, a time if there ever was one. Alf has jest told me what you intend to do, but if you think that you are goin' to crowd a lot of money off on me you are wrong. Give us this old house and see that we don't need nothin'--but, of course, you'll do that. I thought I'd let 'em fight to a finish up yander, but I didn't. They looked at me so pitiful that I called an old feller that happened to be passin' along and told him that he might have 'em. I've got to have a Sam and a Bob. Old Craighead, that lives about ten miles from here, has some of the finest in the world. Always wanted 'em, but they were so high that I couldn't tip-toe and reach 'em. Reckon you could fix it so I could git a couple?" "You shall have as many as you want--all of them." "I'm a thousand times obleeged to you. Yes, sir; sometimes we think we could run things better than He does, but I don't reckon we could. We seen young Lundsford as we driv along jest now. And I think he'll be over here putty soon, but don't you worry. No, sir, we ain't got nothin' to worry about now. Believe it would push us to scratch up a worry, don't you? By jings, though, I hardly know what to do; I step around here like a blind sheep in a barn, as the feller says. Well, it's gettin' pretty quiet down there now. Alf got away as soon as he could, and has gone over to the General's. Hush a minit. Thought I heard Chyd's voice. Well, I'm going to poke round a little, and it's not worth while to tell you to make yourself at home." He went out, and I heard him humming a tune as he tramped slowly down the stairs. I took a seat near the window. Voices reached me, and, looking down through the branches of a mulberry tree, I saw Guinea sitting on a bench, and near her stood Chyd Lundsford. In his hand he held a switch and with it he was slowly cutting at a bloom on a vine that grew about the tree. He was talking. Guinea's face was turned upward and her hands were clasped behind her head. I could look down into her eyes, but she did not see me, and I felt a sense of self-reproach at thus watching her, listening for her to speak, and I thought to get up, but my legs refused to move, and I sat there, looking down into her eyes. Her face was pale and her lips, which had seemed to me in bloom with the rich juice of life, were now drawn thin.