Sho--that didn't count, he only kept a mutterin'--sho!--arollin' his head sideways, sho! And their six tow heads were rolled to illustrate their meaning. And a-pluckin' at a body's hands!--and they plucked at Mr. Cavendish's hands. Sho--did he say why he done that? “If you-all will quit yo' noise and dress, you-all kin presently set by the pore gentleman. If you don't, I'll have to speak to yo' mother; I 'low she'll trim you! I reckon you-all don't want me to call her? No, by thunderation!--because you-all know she won't stand no nonsense! She'll fan you; she'll take the flat of her hand to you-all and make you skip some; I reckon I'd get into my pants befo' she starts on the warpath. I wouldn't give her no such special opportunity as you're offerin'!” Mr. Cavendish's voice and manner had become entirely confidential and sympathetic, and though fear of their mother could not be said to bulk high on their horizon, yet the small Cavendishes were persuaded by sheer force of his logic to withdraw and dress. Their father hurried back to Yancy. “I was just thinkin', sir,” he said, “that if it would be any comfort to you, we'll tie up to the bank right here and wait until you can travel. I'm powerfully annoyed at having fetched you all this way!” But Yancy shook his head. “I'll be glad to go on to Memphis with you. If my nevvy got away from Murrell, that's where I'll find him. I reckon folks will be kind to him and sort of help him along. Why, he ain't much mo' than knee high!” “Shore they will! there's a lot of good in the world, so don't you fret none about him!” cried Polly. “I can't do much else, ma'am, than think of him bein' lonesome and hungry, maybe--and terribly frightened. What do you-all suppose he thought when he woke up and found me gone?” But neither Polly nor her husband had any opinion to venture on this point. “If I don't find him in Memphis I'll take the back track to No'th Carolina, stoppin' on the way to see that man Slosson.” “Well, I 'low there's a fit comin' to him when he gets sight of you!” and Cavendish's bleached blue eyes sparkled at the thought. “There's a heap mo' than a fit. I don't bear malice, but I stay mad a long time,” answered Yancy grimly: “You shouldn't talk no mo',” said Polly. “You must just lay quiet and get yo' strength back. Now, I'm goin' to fix you a good meal of vittles.” She motioned Cavendish to follow her, and they both withdrew from the shanty. Yancy closed his eyes, and presently, lulled by the soft ripple that bore them company, fell into a restful sleep. “When he told us of his nevvy, Dick, and I got to thinkin' of his bein' just the age of our Richard, I declare it seemed like something got in my throat and I'd choke. Do you reckon he'll ever find him?” said Polly, as she busied herself with preparations for their breakfast. “I hope so, Polly!” said Cavendish, but her words were a powerful assault on his feelings, which at all times lay close to the surface and were easily stirred.