mother’s voice was raised to a higher pitch than was her wont, and the little silver pot shook in her hand. Cassandra took it and regarded it without interest, absorbed in other thoughts. Then, throwing off her abstraction, she began questioning her mother about it, and why she had brought it to her now. The widow told all she knew, as she had told David, and pointed out the half obliterated coat of arms on the side.

“I’ve heered your paw say ‘at ther war more pieces’n this, oncet, but this’n come straight to him from his grandpaw, an’ now hit’s yourn. If he have sont fer ye, take hit with ye. Hit may be wuth more’n you think fer now. I been told they do think a heap o’ fambly ovah thar, jest like we do here in the mounting. Leastways, hit’s all we do have