“No, ma’am—­it ain’t that—­I was just thinking—­”

“Thinking about what, dear?”

“About my Uncle Bob.”  The small face was very wistful.

“Oh—­and you still miss him so much, Hannibal?”

“I bet I do—­I reckon anybody who knew Uncle Bob would never get over missing him; they just couldn’t, Miss Betty!  The judge is mighty kind, and so is Mr. Mahaffy—­they’re awful kind, Miss Betty, and it seems like they get kinder all the time—­but with Uncle Bob, when he liked you, he just laid himself out to let you know it!”

“That does make a great difference, doesn’t it?” agreed Betty sadly, and two piteous tearful eyes were bent upon him.

“Don’t you reckon if Uncle Bob is alive, like the judge says, and he’s ever going to find me, he had ought to be here by now?” continued Hannibal anxiously.

“But it hasn’t been such a great while, Hannibal; it’s only that so much has happened to you.  If he was very badly hurt it may have been weeks before he could travel; and then when he could, perhaps he went back to that tavern to try to learn what had become of you.  But we may be quite certain he will never abandon his search until he has made every possible effort to find you, dear!  That means he will sooner or later come to west Tennessee, for there will always be the hope that you have found your way here.”

“Sometimes I get mighty tired waiting, Miss Betty,” confessed the boy.  “Seems like I just couldn’t wait no longer” He sighed gently, and then his face cleared.  “You reckon he’ll come most any time, don’t you, Miss Betty ?”

“Yes, Hannibal; any day or hour!”

“Whoop!” muttered Hannibal softly under his breath.  Presently he asked:  “Where does that branch take you to?” He nodded toward the bayou at the foot of the terraced bluff.

“It empties into the river,” answered Betty.

Hannibal saw a small skiff beached among the cottonwoods that grew along the water’s edge and his eyes lighted up instantly.  He had a juvenile passion for boats.

“Why, you got a boat, ain’t you, Miss Betty?” This was a charming and an important discovery.

“Would you like to go down to it?” inquired Betty.

“’Deed I would!  Does she leak any, Miss Betty?”

“I don’t know about that.  Do boats usually leak, Hannibal?”

“Why, you ain’t ever been out rowing in her, Miss Betty, have you?—­and there ain’t no better fun than rowing a boat!” They had started down the path.

“I used to think that, too, Hannibal; how do you suppose it is that when people grow up they forget all about the really nice things they might do?”

“What use is she if you don’t go rowing in her?” persisted Hannibal.

“Oh, but it is used.  Mr. Tom uses it in crossing to the other side where they are clearing land for cotton.  It saves him a long walk or ride about the head of the bayou.”