I lay out thar nigh on to a hull day, whilst Hoyle here run clar down to Sally’s place to git her. He couldn’t lif’ me hisse’f, he’s that weak; he tried to haul me in, but when I hollered, — sufferin’ so I war jes’ ‘bleeged to holler, — he kivered me up whar I lay and lit out fer Sally, an’ she an’ her man they got me up here, an’ here I ben ever since. I reckon I never will leave this bed ontwell I’m cyarried out in a box.”

“Oh, no, not that! You’re too much alive for that. We’ll see about it to-morrow. Good night.”

“Hoyle may show you the way,” said the girl, rising. “Your bed is in the loom shed. I’m right sorry it’s so cold.