"Please, sir, I want to keep it," he added.
"Well, you run along on out of here with your old spo'tin'
rifle!" said Crenshaw good-naturedly.
"Please, sir, am I to keep it?"
"Yes, I reckon you may keep it--least I've no objection."
Crenshaw glanced at Bladen.
"Oh, by all means," said the latter. Spasms of delight shook the
small figure, and with a murmur that was meant for thanks he
backed from the room, closing the door. Bladen glanced
inquiringly at Crenshaw.
"You want to know about him, sir? Well, that's Hannibal Wayne
Hazard."
"Hannibal Wayne Hazard?" repeated Bladen.
"Yes, sir; the general was the authority on that point, but who
Hannibal Wayne Hazard is and how he happens to be at the Barony
is another mystery--just wait a minute, sir--" and quitting his
chair Mr. Crenshaw hurried from the room to return almost
immediately with a tall countryman. "Mr. Bladen, this is Bob
Yancy. Bob, the gentleman, wants to hear about the woman and the
child; that's your story."
"Howdy, sir," said Mr. Yancy. He appeared to meditate on the
mental effort that was required of him, then he took a long
breath. "It was this a-ways--" he began with a soft drawl, and
then paused. "You give me the dates, Mr. John, fo' I
disremember."
"It was four year ago come next Christmas," said Crenshaw.
"Old Christmas," corrected Mr. Yancy. "Our folks always kept the
old Christmas like it was befo' they done mussed up the calendar.
I'm agin all changes," added Mr.
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