hungry no more. It’s what makes me so late. My mother’s down sick, and out of money and everything, and I come to tell my uncle Abner Moore. He lives at the upper end of the town, she says. I hain’t ever been here before.

Do you know him?”

“No; but I don’t know everybody yet. I haven’t lived here quite two weeks. It’s a considerable ways to the upper end of the town. You better stay here all night. Take off your bonnet.”

“No,” I says; “I’ll rest awhile, I reckon, and go on. I ain’t afeard of the dark.”

She said she wouldn’t let me go by myself, but her husband would be in by and by, maybe in a hour and a half, and