I should have given him my name, and made him my heir. His
education has already begun, under my supervision," and the
judge, remembering the high use to which he had dedicated one of
Pegloe's trade labels, fairly glowed with philanthropic fervor.
"Think of that!" murmured Yancy softly. He was deeply moved. So
was Mr. Cavendish, who was gifted with a wealth of ready
sympathy. He thrust out a hardened hand to the judge.
"Shake!" he said. "You're a heap better than you look." A thin
ripple of laughter escaped Mahaffy, but the judge accepted Chills
and Fever's proffered hand. He understood that here was a simple
genuine soul.
"Price, isn't it important for us to know why Mr. Yancy thinks
the boy has been taken back to North Carolina?" said Mahaffy.
"Just what kin is Hannibal to you, Mr. Yancy?" asked the judge
resuming his seat.
"Strictly speaking, he ain't none. That he come to live with me
is all owing to Mr. Crenshaw, who's a good man when left to
himself, but he's got a wife, so a body may say he never is left
to himself," began Yancy; and then briefly he told the story of
the woman and the child much as he had told it to Bladen at the
Barony the day of General Quintard's funeral.
The judge, his back to the light and his face in shadow, rested
his left elbow on the desk and with his cbin sunk in his palm,
followed the Scratch Hiller's narrative with the closest
attention.
"And General Quintard never saw him--never manifested any
interest in him?" the words came slowly from the judge's lips, he
seemed to gulp down something that rose in his throat.
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