year, but that little an' sickly—he like to 'a' died if I hadn't took him." She paused and wiped away a tear that trickled down the furrow of her thin cheek. "If hit war lef' to us women fer to stir 'em up, I reckon thar wouldn't be no feuds, fer hit's hard on we-uns when we're friendly, an' Ferd like my own boy that-a-way."
"But perhaps—" David spoke musingly—"perhaps it was a woman who stirred up the trouble between them."
The widow looked a moment with startled glance into his face, then turned her gaze away. "I reckon not. The' is no woman far or near as I evah heern o' Frale goin' with."
Still pondering, David rose to go, but quickly resumed his seat, and turned her thoughts again to the past. He would not leave her thus sad at heart.
"Won't you finish telling me about the spelling-book?"
"I forget how come hit, but maw didn't leave we chillen to Teasleys' that day she went to do the washin'. Likely Miz Teasley war sick—anyway she lef' us here. She baked corn-bread—hit war all we had in the house to eat them days, an' she fotched water fer the day, an' kivered up the fire. Then she locked the door an' took the key with her, an' tol' we-uns did we hear a noise like anybody tryin' to get in, to go up garret an' make out like thar wa'n't nobody to home. The' war three o' us chillen. I war the oldest. We war Caswells, my fam'ly. My little brothah Whitson, he war sca'cely more'n a baby, runnin' 'round pullin' things down