The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. "It's all up, master," groaned Ben, "nothin' short of a merracle can save us. She traced him by his scent. “Has he accused any one yet?” “Not yet,” he answered. “Who can tell?” she said. She approached this field with her usual liveliness of apprehension. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault. Abruptly the sterner look vanished and she twinkled. It is a matter of degree.
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