Suddenly a shadow fell obliquely across the foot of his narrow
bed, and Cavendish, bending his long body somewhat, thrust his
head in at the opening. He found himself looking into a pair of
eyes that for the first time in many a long day held the light of
consciousness.
"How are you, stranger?" he demanded, in a soft drawl.
"Where am I?" the words were a whisper on Yancy's bearded lips.
"Well, sir, you are in the Tennessee River fo' certain; my wife
will make admiration when she hears you speak. Polly! you jest
step here."
But Polly had heard Cavendish speak, and the murmur of Yancy's
voice in reply. Now her head appeared beside her husband's, and
Yancy saw that she was rosy and smiling, and that her claim to
good looks was something that could not well be denied.
"La, you are some better, ain't you, sir?" she cried, smiling
down on him
"How did I get here, and where's my nevvy ?" questioned Yancy
anxiously.
"There now, you ain't in no condition fo' to pester yo'self with
worry. You was fished up out of the Elk River by Mr. Cavendish,"
Polly explained, still smiling and dimpling at him.
"When, ma'am--last night?"
"You got another guess coming to you, stranger!" It was
Cavendish who spoke.
"Do you mean, sir, that I been unconscious for a spell?"
suggested Yancy rather fearfully, glancing from one to the other.
"It's been right smart of a spell, too; yes, sir, you've laid
like you was dead, and not fo' a matter of hours either--but
days.
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