You see, a feller's sorter expected to--"
"I don't keer ef she _is_ my sister, I ain't a-goin' in thar, an' that
settles it. I declare I'd be ashamed to call myse'f a man ef I wus
afeerd uv a weakly, bent-over old woman like she is."
Peter stirred uneasily in his chair.
"I don't keer about holdin' no talk with 'er--ur startin' 'er off by
the sight o' me--but I'll go thar--I see 'er door ain't shet--an' I'll
put the grub whar she'll see it."
"Well, that'll do," agreed Mrs. Slogan. "Feedin' 'er ain't a-goin' to
make 'er any wuss, an' it mought have a quietin' effect."
Peter took the improvised tray when it was brought to him and went out
with it, returning in a moment.
"I ketched 'er a-lookin' right at me," he said, "an' so I jest walked
bold-faced in an' put the stuff on a table in front of 'er. She looked
down in the fire an' didn't speak, an' I didn't nuther. She didn't
look one bit dangerous. Now that I've seed 'er, I reckon I'll sleep
some. I'm dem glad I did. Ef you'll jest take a peep at 'er you'll
feel better."
"Well, I won't close my two eyes," affirmed his wife.
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