"Gawd A'mighty," he breathed, "it's ole Aunt Becky come back to add to
trubble after us-all hopin' she was daid--or something."

Becky was coming toward the road, bending over the bundle she bore; she
paused, looked down, and then darted ahead right in the path of the
horses. They reared and something snapped.

Meredith awoke and sat up with a cry.

"What is the matter?" she asked. "An accident?"

"'Tain't nothin' so bad as an accident, ma'am," Jed reassured her, "but
I don't take no chances with Lincoln's hind hoofs, ma'am, an' somethin'
done cracked in dat quarter."

The pause gave Aunt Becky time to reach Ridge House and play her part in
the scheme of things.

Panting and well nigh exhausted, the old woman staggered on and was
thankful to see at her journey's end that but one light shone in the
quiet house. The light was in the living room where Angela sat alone
waiting for Meredith Thornton. She had quite forgotten, in her growingly
anxious hours, all about poor Becky and her sorrows. So now, when the
long window, opening on the west porch, swayed inward, she started up
with outstretched arms--and confronted Becky.

"I've brung hit!" Becky staggered to a chair, uninvited, and sat down
with her burden, wrapped in a dirty, old quilt, upon her knees.