The Mountain Girl by Emma Payne Erskine Chapter 8 Page 15

My little brothah Whitson, he war sca’cely more’n a baby, runnin’ ‘round pullin’ things down on his hade whar he could reach, an Cotton war mos’ as much keer — that reckless.”

She paused and smiled as she recalled the cares of her childhood, then wandered on in her slow narration. “They done a heap o’ things that day to about drive me plumb crazy, an’ all the time we was thinkin’ we heered men talkin’ or horses trompin’ outside, an’ kep’ ourselves right busy runnin’ up garret to hide.

“Along towa’ds night hit come on to snow, an’ then turned to rain, a right cold hard rain, an’ we war that cold an’ hungry — an’ Whit, he cried fer maw, — an’ hit come dark an’