the work. But I was hanging on by my teeth by that time, and I was a lot nearer giving up the fight, and going along with her on whatever she felt like doing, even getting drunk, than I wanted her to know. That was when I took this walk up the creek, and past the church, and through Tulip, trying to get control of myself, and maybe pray a little, for some more strength.
And then, from up among the trees, I heard something that sounded like a wail. Then here it came again, closer. Then I could make out it was a man, calling somebody named Danny. And then all of a sudden a prickle went up my back, because I knew that voice, from the million times I had heard it at the company store and around the camp and in my own home. It was Moke, but he wasn't singing comical stuff to a banjo now. He was scared to death, and slobbering at the mouth as he called, and in between moaning and whispering to himself. He went stumbling along to his cabin, and I followed along after him, and watched while he stood in the door, a candle in his hand, and called some more. Then when he went inside I crept up and peeped through a chink in the logs. He was a little man, but I never saw him look so little as he looked now. He was sitting on the clay floor, in one corner, the banjo leaning against the wall beside him, his head on his arms, and shaking with sobs so bad you thought they were going to tear him apart.
I was shook up plenty myself, because if there was one person in this world I hated it was him, and after all Kady had said, and all I knew from before, I couldn't help wondering what he was doing here, and I knew it had to be something that meant me. So I could feel some connection when I came to my cabin, and from the back room I could hear a baby crying. I went inside, and at the sound of the door, a woman called to know if it was Kady. I said it was Kady's father. She came out then, and from the tall, thin shape she had, and the look of her face and color of her eyes, I knew she was a Tyler. "I think you're my girl Jane."
"And you're my father."
We shook hands, and I patted her hand, and then we sat down, and both of us wanted to give each other a kiss but were too bashful. "Can I call you Father?"
"I don't mind."
"I used to call you Pappy."
"You remember that?"
"I remember a lot, and how sweet you was to me, and how much I loved you, and how tall you was."
"Why not call me Jess?"
"Isn't that fresh?"
"Kady does, but of course she is fresh."
"It's so wonderful about her."
"...What about her?"
"Everything."
She looked down at the floor, and you could see she was awful happy about something, and then she said: "You know about Danny?"
"Who's Danny?"
"Didn't she tell you?"
"Is that Danny in there crying?"
"He won't cry after he's fed. Kady took the truck and ran into town for a lot of things he's got to have, because all you've got here, that he can have, is milk. But she'll be back soon. And as soon as he gets a little something in his stomach he'll be sweeter than sugar."
"What's Moke got to do with him?"
"Have you see Moke?"
I told her what had gone on in the hollow, and she doubled up her fists and said: "I hope I don't see him. I might kill him."
"Hey, hey, none of that kind of talk."
"Moke took Danny."
"First my wife, then my grandson."
"Say that again, Jess."
"He is, isn't he?"
"I wasn't sure you'd remember it."
"I don't forget much."
"What Moke did, and how today I caught up with him, that's part of what's so wonderful. Last week, on account of Kady being gone and my mother not much caring one way or the other, little Danny was mine, and it was heavenly, because maybe I'll never get married, but still I had one of my own. Then when I came home from the store one day he was gone, and Moke was gone, and I went almost crazy, but I knew it had to be Moke that took him, because he was so crazy about him."
"Moke loves somebody?"
"Oh, he gets lonely too. And there I was, fit to be tied. Because Kady, that was my
And then, from up among the trees, I heard something that sounded like a wail. Then here it came again, closer. Then I could make out it was a man, calling somebody named Danny. And then all of a sudden a prickle went up my back, because I knew that voice, from the million times I had heard it at the company store and around the camp and in my own home. It was Moke, but he wasn't singing comical stuff to a banjo now. He was scared to death, and slobbering at the mouth as he called, and in between moaning and whispering to himself. He went stumbling along to his cabin, and I followed along after him, and watched while he stood in the door, a candle in his hand, and called some more. Then when he went inside I crept up and peeped through a chink in the logs. He was a little man, but I never saw him look so little as he looked now. He was sitting on the clay floor, in one corner, the banjo leaning against the wall beside him, his head on his arms, and shaking with sobs so bad you thought they were going to tear him apart.
I was shook up plenty myself, because if there was one person in this world I hated it was him, and after all Kady had said, and all I knew from before, I couldn't help wondering what he was doing here, and I knew it had to be something that meant me. So I could feel some connection when I came to my cabin, and from the back room I could hear a baby crying. I went inside, and at the sound of the door, a woman called to know if it was Kady. I said it was Kady's father. She came out then, and from the tall, thin shape she had, and the look of her face and color of her eyes, I knew she was a Tyler. "I think you're my girl Jane."
"And you're my father."
We shook hands, and I patted her hand, and then we sat down, and both of us wanted to give each other a kiss but were too bashful. "Can I call you Father?"
"I don't mind."
"I used to call you Pappy."
"You remember that?"
"I remember a lot, and how sweet you was to me, and how much I loved you, and how tall you was."
"Why not call me Jess?"
"Isn't that fresh?"
"Kady does, but of course she is fresh."
"It's so wonderful about her."
"...What about her?"
"Everything."
She looked down at the floor, and you could see she was awful happy about something, and then she said: "You know about Danny?"
"Who's Danny?"
"Didn't she tell you?"
"Is that Danny in there crying?"
"He won't cry after he's fed. Kady took the truck and ran into town for a lot of things he's got to have, because all you've got here, that he can have, is milk. But she'll be back soon. And as soon as he gets a little something in his stomach he'll be sweeter than sugar."
"What's Moke got to do with him?"
"Have you see Moke?"
I told her what had gone on in the hollow, and she doubled up her fists and said: "I hope I don't see him. I might kill him."
"Hey, hey, none of that kind of talk."
"Moke took Danny."
"First my wife, then my grandson."
"Say that again, Jess."
"He is, isn't he?"
"I wasn't sure you'd remember it."
"I don't forget much."
"What Moke did, and how today I caught up with him, that's part of what's so wonderful. Last week, on account of Kady being gone and my mother not much caring one way or the other, little Danny was mine, and it was heavenly, because maybe I'll never get married, but still I had one of my own. Then when I came home from the store one day he was gone, and Moke was gone, and I went almost crazy, but I knew it had to be Moke that took him, because he was so crazy about him."
"Moke loves somebody?"
"Oh, he gets lonely too. And there I was, fit to be tied. Because Kady, that was my
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