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