he was
uttering loud cries.

"Oh, Lordy! it's little Ab! I uv done killed little Ab over ag'in! Oh,
my little Ab! It's your pore ole mammy, honey! Oh, Mister! make little
Ab wake up an' look at his pore ole mammy!"

The two young men from Atlanta were paralysed with horror. When Uncle
Jake Norris ran up the mountain to alarm Poteet, the witch-like figure
of the woman sprang from the bushes and fell upon Woodward with a loud
outcry. The whole occurrence, so strange, so unnatural, and so
unexpected, stripped the young men of their power of reasoning; and if
the rocks had opened and fiery flames issued forth, their astonishment
and perplexity and terror could have been no greater.

But if they had been acquainted with the history of this wild-eyed
woman,--if they had known that for weeks she had been wandering over
the mountain bereft of reason, and seeking an opportunity to avenge
with her own hands the murder of Ab Bonner, her son,--they would have
been overcome by pity. Uncle Jake Norris understood at once that Ab
Bonner's mother had shot Woodward, and he forgot to be merciful.

"Woe unto you, woman, ef you have done this deed! Woe unto you an'
your'n, Rachel Bonner, ef you have murdered this innocent!"

"That he wuz innocent!" exclaimed the woman, swaying back and forth and
waving her hands wildly. "The unborn babe wan't no innocenter than
little Ab!"

"Woe unto you, Sister Bonner!" Uncle Jake went on, examining Woodward
and speaking more calmly when he found him breathing regularly. "Woe
unto you, and shame upon you, Sister Bonner, to do this deed of
onjestifiable homicide, ez I may say. Let flesh an' min' rankle, but
shed no blood."

"Oh, my little Ab! I uv kilt 'im ag'in!"

"You may well sesso, Sister Rachel Bonner," said Uncle Jake, turning
Woodward over and examining him with the crude skill of an old soldier;
"you may well sesso. Drap down where you is, an' call on the Lord not
to give you over to a reprobate min' for to do the things that were
unconvenient, ez St. Paul says. Let tribulation work patience, lest you
git forsook of hope, Sister Jane Bonner. Come, Cap," he went on,
addressing himself to Woodward, "Teague'll be a drappin' on us,
thereckly, an' it twon't never do in the roun' worl' for to be a-makin'
faces at 'im frum the groun'. Roust up, roust up."

Woodward did rouse up. In fact his unconsciousness was only momentary,
but he had been making a vain effort to trace his surroundings,
disor