When he reached home he loitered for a time outside the fence,
trying to nerve himself to witness his mother's distress. And at
last his tears were dried, and he went in and told her the news.

It was hard for him nowadays to understand that simple mother of
his. She did nothing that he expected. To be sure her cheek paled,
her eyes looked anxious for a moment, and her hands trembled so that
she carefully put down upon the table a dish which she had been
wiping. But she said quite calmly, "Waal, sonny, I dunno but ye hed
better take a day off from work, sure enough, an' go a-huntin'.
Thar's yer rifle, an' mebbe ye'll git a shot at a deer down yander
by the lick. The chill'n haint hed no wild meat lately, 'ceptin'
squir'ls out'n Rufe's trap."

And then he began to cry out bitterly that nobody would give him
work, and they would all starve; that the tanner believed he had
stolen the grant, and was afraid to have him about the hides.

"'Tain't no differ ez long ez 'tain't the truth," said his mother
philosophically. "We-uns will jes' abide by the truth."

He repeated this phrase over and over as he struggled through the
tangled underbrush of the dense forest.

It was all like some terrible dream; and but for Tennessee, it would
be the truth! How he blessed the little sister that her love for
him and his love for her had come between him and crime at that
moment of temptation.