"A woman ought to be boss in her own house," said Crenshaw.

"Feelin' the truth of that, I've never married, Mr. John; I do as
I please and don't have to listen to a passel of opinion. But I
was going to say, what's to hinder me from toting that boy to my
home? There are no calico petticoats hanging up in my closets."

"And no closets to hang 'em in, I'll be bound!" rejoined
Crenshaw. "But if you'll take the boy, Bob, you shan't lose by
it."

Yancy rested a big knotted hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Come, wake up, sonny! Yo' Uncle Bob is ready fo' to strike out
home," he said. The child roused with a start and stared into
the strange bearded face that was bent toward him. "It's yo'
Uncle Bob," continued Yancy in a wheedling tone. "Are you the
little nevvy what will help him to hook up that old blind mule of
hisn ? Here, give us the spo'tin' rifle to tote!"

"Please, sir, where is Aunt Alsidia?" asked the child.

Yancy balanced the rifle on his great palm and his eyes assumed a
speculative cast.

"I wonder what's to hinder us from loading this old gun, and
firing this old gun, and hearing this old gun go-bang! Eh?"

The child's blue eyes grew wide.