"Yas, Cass, yas."
"What's in that bundle, mothah?"
With trembling fingers the widow opened her parcel and displayed the silver teapot, from which the spout had been melted to be moulded into silver bullets.
"Thar," she said, holding it out by the handle, "hit's yourn. Farwell, he done that one day whilst I war gone, an' the last bullet war the one Frale used when he nigh killed your man. No, I reckon you nevah did see hit before, fer I've kept hit hid good. I knowed ther were somethin' to come outen hit some day. Hit do show your fathah come from some fine high fambly somewhar. I done showed hit to Doctah David, fer I 'lowed he mount know was hit wuth anything, but he seemed to set more by them two leetle books. He has them books yet, I reckon."
"Yes, he has them."
"When Frale told me you war a-goin' to David, I guessed 'at thar war somethin' 'at I'd ought to know, an' I clum up here right quick, fer if he war a-lyin', I meant to find out the reason why." She looked keenly in her daughter's face, which remained passive under the scrutiny.
"Has Frale been a-pesterin' you?"
"He did—some—at first; but I sent him away."