David touched it reverently, glad to know so much of her past, and turned to the old mother for more.
"Have you anything else—like this?"
Her sharp eyes sparkled as she looked narrowly at him. "I have suthin' 'at I hain't nevah told anybody livin' a word of, not even Doctah Hoyle—only he war some differ'nt from you. But I'm gettin' old, an' I may as well tell you. Likely with all your larnin' you can tell me is it any good to Cass. She be that sot on all sech." She fumbled at her throat a moment and drew from the bosom of her gown a leather shoe-lacing, from which dangled an iron key. Slowly she undid the knot, and handed it toward him.
"I nevah 'low nobody on earth to touch that thar box, an' the' ain't a soul livin' knows what's in hit. I been gyardin' them like they war gold, fer they belonged to my ol' man—the first one—Cassandra's fathah; but I reckon if I die the' won't nobody see any good in them things. If you'll onlock that thar padlock on that box yander, you'll find it wropped in a piece o' gingham. My paw's mothah spun an' wove that gingham—ol' Miz Caswell. They don't many do work like that nowadays. They lived right whar we a' livin' now."
David unlocked the chest and lifted the heavy lid.
"Hit's down in the further cornder—that's hit, I reckon. Just step to the door, will you, an' see is they anybody nigh."