o dead hisself he would
come and bring him to me, when he got him good enough for you by doing
right and such."

"Was that all?" asked Rose Mary with a gurgle that was well nigh
ecstatic, for through her had shot a quiver of hope that set every
pulse in her body beating hot and strong, while her cheeks burned in
the cool linen of her pillow and her eyes fairly glowed into the
night.

"About all," answered the General, beginning to yawn with the
interrupted slumber. "I told him your children would have to mind me
and Tobe when we spoke to 'em. He kinder choked then and said all
right. Then we bear-hugged for keeps until he comes again. I'm sleepy
now!"

"Oh, Stonie, darling, thank you for waking up and coming to comfort
Rose Mamie," she said, and from its very fullness a happy little sob
escaped from her heart.

"I tell you, Rose Mamie," said the General, instantly, again
sympathetically alarmed, "I'd better come over in your bed and go to
sleep. You can put your head on my shoulder and if you cry, getting me
wet will wake me up to keep care of you agin, 'cause I am so sleepy
now if you was to holler louder than Tucker Poteet I wouldn't wake up
no more." And suiting his actions to his proposition the General
stretched himself out beside Rose Mary, buried his touseled head on
her pillow and presented a diminutive though sturdy little shoulder,
against which she instantly laid her soft cheek.

"You scrouge just like the puppy," was his appreciative comment of
her gentle nestling against his little body. "Now I'm going to sleep,
but if praying to God don't keep you from crying, then wake me up,"
and with this generous and really heroic offer the General drifted off
again into the depths, into which he soon drew Rose Mary with him,
comforted by his faith and lulled in his strong little arms.

CHAPTER X

IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND

And the next morning a threatening, scowling, tossed-cloud dawn
brought the day over the head of Old Harpeth down upon little
Sweetbriar, which awakened with one accord to a sense of melancholy
oppression. A cool, dust-laden wind blew down Providence Road, twisted
the branches of the tall maples along the way, tore roughly at the
festoons of blooming vines over the gables of the Briars, startled the
nestled doves into a sad crooning, whipped mercilessly at the row of
tall hollyhocks along the garden fence, flaunted the long spikes of
jack-beans and carried their quaint fragrance