"That's all. Yes, they war hisn. I war plumb mad at Farwell. I nevah could get ovah what he done, all so't he mount sure kill somebody. Likely he meant them bullets fer the revenue officers, should they come up with him." "It would have been a great pity if he had destroyed this mark. I think--I'm not sure--but if it's what I imagine, it is from an old family in Wales." "I reckon you're right, fer they were Welsh--his paw's folks way back. He used to say the' wa'n't no name older'n hisn since the Bible. I told him 'twar time he got a new one if 'twere that old, but he said he reckoned a name war like whiskey--hit needed a right smart o' age to make hit worth anything." Thryng laid the antique silver pot on the bed beside the old mother's hand and again took up the small volumes. As he held them, a thought flashed through his mind, yet hardly a thought,--it was more of an illumination,--like a vista suddenly opened through what had seemed an impenetrable, impalpable wall, beyond which lay a joy yet to be, but before unseen. In that instant of time, a vision appeared to him of what life might bring, glorified by a tender light as of red fire seen through a sweet, blue, obscuring mist, and making thus a halo about the one figure of the vision outlined against it, clear and fine. "'Pears like you find somethin' right interestin' in that book; be you readin' hit?" "I find a glorious prophecy. Was your first husband born and raised here as you were?" "Not on this spot; but he was born an' raised like we-uns here in the mountains--ovah th'other side Pisgah. I seed him first when I wa'n't more'n seventeen. He come here fer--I don't rightly recollect what, only he had been deer huntin' an' come late evenin' he drapped in. He had lost his dog, an' he had a bag o' birds, an' he axed maw could she cook 'em an' give him suppah, an' maw, she took to him right smaht. "Aftah suppah--I remember like hit war last evenin'--he took gran'paw's old fiddle an' tuned hit up an' sot thar an' played everything you evah heered. He played like the' war birds singin' an' rain fallin', an' like the wind when hit goes wailin' round the house in the pine tops--soft an' sad--like that-a-way. Gran'paw's old fiddle. I used to keer a heap fer hit, but one time Farwell got religion, an' he took an' broke hit 'cause he war 'feared Frale mount larn to play an' hit would be a temptation of the devil to him." "Well, I say! That was a crime, you know." "Yes. Sometimes I lay here an' say what-all did I marry Farwell fer, anyway. Well--every man has his failin's, the' say, an' Farwell, he sure had hisn." "May I keep these books a short time? I will be very careful of them. You know that, or you would not have shown them to me." "You take them as long as you like. Hit ain't like hit used to be. Books is easy come by these days--too easy, I reckon. Cassandry, she brung a whole basketful of 'em with her. Thar they be on that cheer behin' my spinnin'-wheel."