"Look 'em ovah all you want to. She won't keer, I reckon. She hain't had a mite o' time since she come home to look at 'em."
But David thought better of it. He would not look in her basket and pry among her treasures without her permission.
"When is she coming back?" he asked, awakened to desire further knowledge of the silent girl's aspirations.
"Soon, I reckon. She's been a right smart spell longah now 'n she 'lowed she'd be. Hit's old man Irwin. He's been hurted some way. She went ovah to see could Aunt Sally Carew go an' help Miz Irwin keer fer him—she's a fool thing, don't know nothin'. They sont down fer me—but here I be, so she rode the colt ovah fer Sally."
David wrapped and tied the piece of silver as he had found it. As he replaced it in the box, he discovered the pieces of the broken fiddle loosely tied in a sack, precious relics of a joy that was past. Carefully he locked the box and returned the key, but the books he folded in the strip of gingham and carried away with him.
"I'll be back to-night or in the morning. If she doesn't return, send Hoyle for me. You mustn't be too long alone. Shall I mend the fire?"
He threw on another log, then lifted her a little and brought