“Naw, you shore ain’t—­nor let me neither,” answered the poet in a depressed tone of voice.

“I mighter known that Miss Viney woulder taken it up-headed and a-lined it out in the scriptures to suit herself until she wasn’t deep in the grieving no more, but little Mis’ Amandy’s a-going to break my heart, as tough as it is, if she don’t git comfort soon,” continued Mrs. Rucker with a half sob.  “Last night in the new moonlight I got up to go see if I hadn’t left my blue waist out in the dew, which mighter faded it, and I saw something white over in the Briar’s yard.  I went across to see if they had left any wash out that hadn’t oughter be in the dew, and there I found her in her little, short old nightgown and big slippers with the little wored-out gray shawl ’round her shoulders a-digging around the Maiden Blush rose-bush, putting in new dirt and just a-crying soft to herself, all trembling and hurt.  I went in and set down by her on the damp grass, me and my rheumatism and all, took her in my arms like she were Petie, and me and her had it out.  It’s the graves she’s a-grieving over, we all a-knowing that she’s leaving buried what she have never had in life, and I tried to tell her that no matter who had the place they would let her come and—­”

“Oh, durn him, durn him!  I’m a-going clear to the city to git old Gid and beat the liver outen him!” exclaimed young Bob, while his sunburned face worked with emotion and his gruff young voice broke as he rose and walked to the door.

“I wisht you would, and I’ll make Cal help you,” sobbed Mrs. Rucker into a corner of her apron.  Her grief was all the more impressive, as she was, as a general thing, the balance-wheel of the whole Sweetbriar machinery.  “And I don’t know what they are a-going to do,” she continued to sob.

“Well, I know, and I’ve done decided,” came in Mrs. Plunkett’s soft voice from the side door of the store, and it held an unwonted note of decision in its hushed cadences.  A deep pink spot burned on either cheek, her eyes were very bright, and she kept her face turned resolutely away from little Mr. Crabtree, over whose face there had flashed a ray of most beautiful and abashed delight.

“Me and Mr. Crabtree were a-talking it all over last night while Bob and Louisa Helen were down at the gate counting lightning-bugs, they said.  They just ain’t no use thinking of separating Rose Mary and Mr. Tucker and the rest of ’em, and they must have Sweetbriar shelter, good and tight and genteel, offered outen the love Sweetbriar has got for ’em all.  Now if I was to marry Mr. Crabtree I could all good and proper move him over to my house and that would leave his little three-room cottage hitched on to the store to move ’em into comfortable.  They have got a heap of things, but most of ’em could be packed away in the barn here, what they won’t let us keep for ’em.  If Mr. Crabtree has got to take holt of my farm it will keep him away from the store, and he could give Mr. Tucker a half-interest cheap to run it for him and that will leave Rose Mary free to help him and tend the old folks.  What do you all neighbors think of it?”