Yancy, sensible of the gulf that yawned between himself and what was known as "the quality," would have yielded his place, but Betty detained him.
"Are you going away, ma'am ?" he asked with concern.
"Yes--to my home in west Tennessee," and a cloud crossed her smooth brow.
"That surely is a right big distance for you to travel, ma'am," said Yancy, his mind opening to this fresh impression.

"I reckon it's rising a hundred miles or mo'," he concluded, at a venture.
"It's almost a thousand." "Think of that! And you are that ca'm!" cried Yancy admiringly, as a picture of simply stupendous effort offered itself to his mind's eye.
He added: "I am mighty sorry you are going.

We-all here shall miss you--specially Hannibal.

He just regularly pines for Sunday as it is." "I hope he will miss me a little--I'm afraid I want him to!" She glanced down at the boy as she spoke, and into her eyes, very clear and very blue and shaded by long dark lashes, stole a look of wistful tenderness.
She noted how his little hand was clasped in Yancy's, she realized the perfect trust of his whole attitude toward this big bearded man, and she was conscious of a sudden feeling of profound respect for the Scratch Hiller.
"But ain't you ever coming back, Miss Betty ?" asked Hannibal rather fearfully, smitten with the awesome sense of impermanence which dogs our footsteps.
"Oh, I hope so, dear--I wish to think so.

But you see my home is not here." She turned to Yancy, "So it is settled that he is to remain with you ?" "Not exactly, Miss Betty.