"'I've fearn this thing for a long time. Las' winter befo' the
baby come, I used to set befo' the fire all night long, dreadin',
dreadin'--I didn't know what--this, I guess. We've been married
nigh onto fou' years now, though I ain't but seventeen; Andy he's
comin' nineteen. It's agen the law to marry that young, but pa he
hed a big family and Andy, he was a mighty nice young man, so we
fixed it all right.

"'We never hed no preachin' fo' more'n three year befo' yo' all
come, exceptin' when Mis' Lawson's baby died and when Ben and Lizy
was married, ole Brother Bonat come over an' preached a couple o'
nights. Fo' more'n year now Andy an' Jim ha' been hangin' roun'
Eskin's store, an' you've never know'd 'em exceptin' as the rough
men they are. When yo' all come I tho't maybe yo' could get 'em
back, but it was too late. Now Jim, he's dead, and Andy--cou'se he
never'd tetched Jim if he'd been hisself.'

"The soft, hopeless drawl stopped, and again there was silence.
Soon the sleeping children roused, the dog barked, and three men
came to the doorway--the father and brothers. Without greeting,
the old man said: 'Yo'd better come home, Ocie. Jim, he's dead,
an' Andy'll hev to go to Moundsville, I reckon.' (Moundsville
meant the state penitentiary.) The teacher helped to dismantle the
poor little home and saw the few household belongings loaded on
the ox sled.

"The silence which she knew was more acceptable sympathy to the
tearless child-woman than words would have been, was only broken
when they were standing on the steps above the creek. Then the
words were interrupted by the child-mother.