was sure killed. Did Hoke tell you this morning?"
"I 'lowed you was stoppin' with Azalie—'at baby was sick or somethin'—when Hoyle went up to the cabin an' said doctah wa'n't there. Frale sure have done for hisself. I reckon you are cl'ar shet o' him now, an' I'm glad ye be, since he done took to the idee o' marryin' with you. What-all have he done the doctah this-a-way fer? The' wa'n't nothin' 'twixt him an' doctah. Pore fool boy he! I'll be glad fer yuer sake, Cass, if he'll quit these here mountains."
"Oh, mother, mother! Don't talk about me, don't think of me! The doctor's nigh about killed—let alone the sin Frale has on him now." Wearied beyond further endurance, she flung herself on her bed and broke into uncontrollable sobbing, while Hoyle stood in the middle of the room and gazed with wide-eyed wonder.
"Be the doctah dade, maw?" he asked, in an awed whisper.
"No, child, no. You fetch a leetle light ud an' chips, an' we'll make her some coffee. Sister's that tired, pore child! Have ye been up all night, Cass?"
She nodded her head and still sobbed on.
"He's gettin' on all right now, be he?"
Again she nodded, but did not take her hands from her face.