"Oh, no, not that! You're too much alive for that. We'll see about it to-morrow. Good night."
"Hoyle may show you the way," said the girl, rising. "Your bed is in the loom shed. I'm right sorry it's so cold. I put blankets there, and you can use all you like of them. I would have given you Frale's place up garret--only--he might come in any time, and--"
"Naw, he won't. He's too skeered 'at--" Hoyle's interruption stopped abruptly, checked by a glance of his sister's eye.
"I hope you'll sleep well--"
"Sleep? I shall sleep like a log. I feel as if I could sleep for a week.
It's awfully good of you. I hope we haven't eaten all the supper, Hoyle and I. Come, little chap. Good night." He took up his valise and followed the boy, leaving her standing by the uncleared table, gazing after him.
"Now you eat, Cassandry. You are nigh about perished you are that tired," said her mother.
Then old Sally brought more pork and hot pone from the ashes, and they sat down together, eating and sipping their black coffee in silence.
Presently Hoyle returned and began removing his clumsy shoes, by the fire.
"Did he ax ye a heap o' questions, Hoyle?" queried the old woman sharply.
"Naw. Did'n' ax noth'n'."
"Waal, look out 'at you don't let on nothin' ef he does. Talkin' may hurt, an' hit may not."
"He hain't no government man, maw."
"Hit's all right, I reckon, but them 'at larns young to hold ther