“No’th Carolina.  Me and my nevvy was a-goin’ into west Tennessee to a place called Belle Plain, somewhere near Memphis.  We have friends there,” explained Yancy.

“That settles it!” cried Cavendish.  “It won’t be Kentucky, and it won’t be Illinoy; I’ll put you asho’ at Memphis; mebby you’ll find yo’ nevvy there after all.”

“That’s the best.  You lay still and get yo’ strength back as fast as you can, and try not to worry—­do now.”  Polly"s voice was soft and wheedling.

“I reckon I been a heap of bother to you-all,” said Yancy.

“La, no,” Polly assured him; “you ain’t been.”

And now the six little Cavendishes appeared on the scene.  The pore gentleman had come to—­sho!  He had got his senses back —­sho! he wa’n’t goin’ to die after all; he could talk.  Sho! a body could hear him plain!  Excited beyond measure they scurried about in their fluttering rags of nightgowns for a sight and hearing of the pore gentleman.  They struggled madly to climb over their parents, and failing this—­under them.  But the opening that served as a door to the shanty being small, and being as it was completely stoppered by their father and mother who were in no mood to yield an inch, they distributed themselves in quest of convenient holes in the bark edifice through which to peer at the pore gentleman.  And since the number of youthful Cavendishes exceeded the number of such holes, the sound of lamentation and recrimination presently filled the morning air.

“I kin see the soles of his feet!” shrieked Keppel with passionate intensity, his small bleached eye glued to a crack.

He was instantly ravished of the sight by Henry.

“You mean hateful thing!—­just because you’re bigger than Kep!” and Constance fell on the spoiler.  As her mother’s right-hand man she had cuffed and slapped her way to a place of power among the little brothers.

Mr. Cavendish appeared to allay hostilities.

“I ’low I’ll skin you if you don’t keep still!  Dress!—­the whole kit and b’ilin’ of you!” he roared, and his manner was quite as ferocious as his words.

But the six little Cavendishes were impressed by neither.  They instantly fastened on him like so many leeches.  What was the pore gentleman saying?—­why couldn’t they hear, too?  Then they’d keep still, sure they would!  Did he say he knowed who throwed him in the river?

“I wonder, Connie, you ain’t able to do more with these here children.  Seems like you ought to—­a great big girl like you,” said Mr. Cavendish, reduced to despair.

“It was Henry pickin’ on Kep,” cried Constance.

“I found a crack and he took it away from me! drug me off by the legs, he did, and filled my stomach full of slivers!” wailed Keppel, suddenly remembering he had a grievance.  “You had ought to let me see the pore gentleman!” he added ingratiatingly.

“Well, ain’t you been seein’ him every day fo’ risin’ two weeks and upwards?—­ain’t you sat by him hours at a stretch?” demanded Mr. Cavendish fiercely.