can talk a bit. Now, Hoke, laid up here as I am, I need your help. I want to send you to Farington or Lone Pine—somewhere—I don't know where such things are to be had—but, Hoke, you've been married and know all about what's needed here."
"Ye want me to git ye a license, I reckon," said Hoke, grinning, "an' ye mount send me a errant I'd like a heap worse—that's so; but what good will hit be to ye now? You can't stan' on your feet."
"I can put it under my pillow and keep it to get well on. See here, Hoke. I don't even know if she'll marry me; she has not said so, but I'll be ready. You'll keep this quiet for me, Hoke? Because it would trouble her if the whole mountain side should know what I have done before she does. Yet a girl like Cassandra is worth winning if you have to go to the edge of the grave to do it, so whenever she will have me, I want to be ready."
They talked in low tones, Hoke leaning forward close to David, his elbows on his knees. "I reckon you are a-thinkin' to bide on here 'long o' we-uns an' not carry her off nowhar else?" he asked gravely.
David's paleness left him for a moment, as the warm tide swept upward from his heart. "My home is not in this country, and wherever a man goes, he expects to take his wife with him. Don't you people here in the mountains do the same?"