"Pray tell me how it is the birds and the beasts obey you?"
"I love 'em!" she answered, promptly, and with warmth. "I know 'em, an'
they know me."
She turned without warning, and walking to the bank of the creek, which
at this point was raised several feet above the water, leaned over and
peered down into the pool below. Could Eve have been more artless? She
was looking at her reflection in the mirror of the stream!
I picked up her bonnet by one of the strings, then went and stood beside
her. A compliment arose unbidden to my lips, but I stifled it. It would
not have been fair.
"I mus' go," she said, straightening up, and twisting a hanging curl
near her forehead back beneath her hair.
"Aren't you--"
I started to ask if she wasn't afraid, and if I mightn't go with her,
but remembered in time.
"--and your granny very lonely?" I finished, lamely, but she did not
appear to notice it.
"La! No! Th' Tollerses 's jis' t'other side o' th' ridge, 'n' they've
got a pas'l o' kids. No time to git lonesome!"
My spirit writhed. Such language as this--from her!
She held out a hand for the bonnet.
I brought it forward slowly, still holding it by the string. Her hand
rested against mine for an instant as she took it. At this juncture I
made a--to me--significant discovery. _Her nails were pared and clean!_
It seemed paradoxical, but it was true. I did not attempt to account for
the phenomenon then, but I did later, with no results whatever.
"Where is Lizard Point--exactly?" I asked, my voice more serious than it
had been during our talk.
She pointed her finger down the creek, as it flowed gently murmuring to
the south.
"Th' crick 'll lead yo'. Nigh onto half mile frum here."
"I'm coming to see you and your granny some day soon. May I? You know
it's lonesome for me out here. I'm not used to it. May I come?"
She gazed at me with steady gray eyes for a few moments.
"Ye-e-es; I s'pose so," she answered, reluctantly; "if yo' git
lonesome.... Whut yo' keer'n' that jar fur?"
Her glance had just espied it, and now it was my turn to blush.
"I'll tell you--when I see you again," I compromised, laughing.
She started off, but stopped and turned.
"Live on Baldy, yo' say?"
"Yes; in the old log house there."
"I go thur sometimes. Maybe I'll come 'n' see you!"
"All right. You'll be mighty welcome."
"Good-by."
"Good-by."
She did not look back, and I stood with a distinct sensation enveloping
me until her copper-gold head, crowned with the star-like dogwood, had
passed from view.