Cassandra came and tenderly took the babe in her arms and held him to her breast. "There, there. Sleep, honey son, sleep again," she cooed, swaying her body to the rhythm of her speech. "Sleep, honey son, sleep again." "Don't you reckon she be mean to Doctah David, nevah to let on 'at he have a son, and he a-growin' that fast? You a-doin' his fathah mean, Cassandry." Still Cassandra swayed and sang. "Sleep, honey son, sleep again." "He nevah will forgive you when he finds out how you have done him. I can't make out what-all ails ye, nohow." "Hush, mother. I'm just leaving his heart in peace. He'll come when he can, and then he'll forgive me." As the doctor walked slowly at her side that evening, carrying the sleeping child back to her cabin, he also ventured a remonstrance, but without avail. "It's hardly fair to his father--such a fine little chap. You--you have a monopoly of him this way, you know." She flushed at the implication of selfishness, but said nothing. "How--how is that? Don't you think so?" he persisted kindly. "I reckon you can't feel what I feel, Doctor. Why should I make his heart troubled when he must stay there? David knows I hate it to bide so long without him. He--he knows. If he could get to come back, don't you guess he'd come right quick, anyway? Would he come any sooner for his son than for me?" It was the doctor's turn for silence. She asked again, this time with a tremor in her voice. "You reckon he would, Doctor?" "No! Of--of course not," he cried. "Then what would be the use of telling him, only to trouble him?" "He--he might like to think about him--you know--might like it." "He said he must go to Africa in May, so now he must have started--and our wedding was on May-day. Now it's the last of May; he must be there. He might be obliged to bide in that country a whole month--maybe two. It's so far away, and his letters take so long to come! Doctor, are they fighting there now? Sometimes I wake in the night and think what if he should die away off there in that far place--" "No, no. That's done. Not fighting, thank God. Rest your heart in peace. Now, after I'm gone, don't stay up here alone too much. I'm a physician, and I know what's best for you." She took the now soundly sleeping child from the doctor's arms and laid him on the bed in the canvas room. The day had been warm, and the fire was out in the great fireplace; the evening wind, light and cool, laden with sweet odors, swept through the cabin. They talked late that night of Hoyle and his future, but never a word more of David. The old man thought he now understood her feeling, and respected it. She certainly had a right to one small weakness, this strong fair creature of the hills. Her husband must release himself from his absorbing cares and return simply for love of her--not at the call of his baby's wail.