A Maid of the Kentucky Hills Part 7

"_Marnin'!_"

I jumped--really I did--for it was as though she had let a gun off in my face. I had never heard such a voice. Vinegary? Well!

I curled my fingers around my chin and looked at the dog. His fiery eye had not wavered. Then I looked at the cat--for in that moment I was firmly convinced this old beldam _was_ a cat. Her mouth had squared into yet firmer lines, and her brow had grown portentous. Still her needles fussed about the half-made sock in her yellowish hands, and her gaze was down, as before.

"Do the--"

I started to ask if people by their name lived here, but when I came to the name I could not supply it; I had never heard it. I stammered, coughed, then knew that a pair of fierce little green eyes were flas.h.i.+ng at me.

"Air yo' a plum' fule? Whur air yo' wits 'n' yo' tongue 'n' yo' commin sinse? Can't yo' tell a body whut yo' want wi'out stam'rin' 'n'

stutt'rin' 'n' takin' all th' day? Folks as has got work to do ain't got no time to waste on tramps 'n' sich! _Talk!_"

Like a cyclone this tirade enveloped me, bursting upon my ears in a high, rasping voice which dragged on my nerves after the manner of a file.

I became desperate. This old virago should not oust me. I thrust my body forward, and, chin out, replied with some heat:

"Is this where Granny, and Granf'er, and Lessie live? That's what I want to know?"

"Land sakes! Jony 'n' th' w'ale!... Air _you_ him?"

Her hands dropped in her lap; she c.o.c.ked her head and viewed me afresh.

During the momentary silence which followed I heard shuffling footsteps within, and an old man appeared in the open doorway in front of me. He wore a s.h.i.+rt made of bed ticking; his trousers were not visible, because of the coffee-sack which wrapped him from his waist to his shoes. He was bald, his white beard was a fringe about his face, his upper lip shaven.

He was drying a white dinner plate of thick ironstone china with a cloth.

"S'firy!" he said, in a squeaky, timorous voice; "S'firy!"

He got no further.

Granny turned her head sideways, at right angle to the speaker, and promptly exploded.

"Jer'bome! Git right back to yo' work! Git! 'N' don't let me see nur hear yo' till them dishes is washed 'n' put away!"

Granf'er (it could be no one else) retreated obediently, without a word.

Granny's face swung around to me again.

"If all men wuz as triflin' 'n' ornery as that air'n o' mine, Lord knows whut th' worl' 'd come to. _E_-tern'l perdition, I reck'n! He jes' lays 'roun' 'n' chaws terbacker, pertendin' he carries a ketch in 'is back.

Plum' laziness, I tell yo'! But I don't 'low no vagrints 'roun' me.

Jer'bome's got to work 's long 's he b'longs to me.... Now! I said, air you _him_?"

"I'm the stranger who lives in the shack on Bald k.n.o.b."

Granny resumed her knitting at this point. I noticed that her s.h.i.+ning needles seemed to be fighting each other as she continued:

"Look whut I'm a-doin' fur 'im now! Slavin' to git somethin' to keep 'is feet warm 'gin winter comes. He's not wuth it! Lak as not he'll crack one o' them dishes 'fo' he gits 'em done. He's that keerless. Most do-less man I _ever_ seen.... Yes, I've heerd 'bout yo'--twict."

"I hope you received a pleasant report?" I ventured.

"Jes' las' night he lef' th' dish tow'ls a-hangin' on th' lot fence 'n'

th' calf et 'em up. 'N' th' day befo' he fed a gang o' day old chick'ns meal 'n' wadder 'n' they swelled up 'n' died. 'N' chick'ns wuth fifteen cents a poun' at th' store!... Lessie come home a fo'tn't ago with a tale o' meetin' some feller. I tol' 'er gels 'd better leave all tramps be."

"But I'm not a tramp!" I protested. "I'm usually considered a gentleman."

"That's whut Jeffy 'lowed. He's here last night--pore feller!--'n' tol'

us 'bout eat'n' a snack with you on Baldy--whut in th' name o' the sevin plagues does a man in 'is right min' wan' to live thur fur?--tell me that!"

"I find it very pleasant--"

Then the light went out, soft hands were pressing hard over my closed lids, and a cool, ferny perfume drifted to my nostrils. I was conscious of warm wrists alongside my head, and a stifled giggle just behind me.

"Lessie!" I cried, remembering the childhood prank.

The blinding hands were at once withdrawn, and as she leaped back new vials of wrath were opened.

"Of all outlandish doin's!"

Granny had raised her head only at my exclamation, but she saw enough.

"Whut on airth air gels comin' to this day 'n' time?--tell me that!

Never seen 'im but onct--mought be a redhanded 'sa.s.s'n--ur a thief--ur--ur--ur _any_thin'! 'N' all my teach'n' all these years. W'en I've _tol'_ yo' that all men were 'ceptious, 'n' _tol'_ yo' to b'lieve nothin' they say, 'n' _tol'_ yo' to have no talk with 'em but 'Howdy'

'n' 'Good-by,' 'n' here yo' air a-huggin' a stranger--teetot'l stranger--'fo' my eyes!"

Granny's jelly-like body really trembled with rage, and I began to have fears for the outcome of the incident. Of course, it amounted to nothing at all so far as right or wrong was concerned. It was simply a natural expression of the primeval simplicity which marked all the Dryad's movements. She was a child, and she had played a child's trick.

She now stood a few feet to one side, looking at me in unfeigned amazement, apparently indifferent to the old woman's outburst. She was dressed nicer than when I saw her before. Her garment was pale green, with little wavy stripes of darker color. Her shoes, too, were a grade better, but still clumsy, and she had a ribbon on her hair, which hung, as before, down her shoulders. She seemed averse to wearing anything on her head, for she held her bonnet--a poke bonnet, like the one I had handed her in the glade--in her left hand.

As she looked fully and squarely at me with her peculiar Irish gray eyes, I felt the same sensation come as when I had first beheld her. It was a feeling I cannot adequately describe, because no definite word I can think of would do. If the word existed, and if I knew it, I would set it down. I should be just as glad to know what that feeling meant as you. Perhaps each of us shall find out later.

She gazed at me and I gazed at her, and Granny gazed at us both. Our eyes met for a full breath, and then somehow mine fell to her throat.

When a woman's throat is beautiful it is altogether as attractive as a lovely face. The Dryad's throat was a poem. If John Keats could have seen it, another golden ode would have come down along with the famous seven. It was simply a perfect column of warm, white, vigorous young life. Not too slender, and swelling on to the shoulders in the gentlest, most marvelous contour. It was while I was engaged in fascinated contemplation of her throat she spoke.

"Land sakes!... How'd yo' know my name?"

"The Sa--Jeff Angel told me."

"Oh!"

Her face underwent a rapid change, and the next moment she had leaped lightly upon the porch, flung her arms around Granny's neck and snuggled her head against the old woman's bosom.

"Don't you bother 'bout me, Granny!" she said, in soothing tones, and again that indefinable haunting cadence smote my ears and caused me to stir uneasily as I stood watching the scene. What a creature of moods this girl was!

Now one hand patted Granny's fat cheek, and another smoothed the l.u.s.terless gray hair. The expression which stole over the truculent face made me think of the sunlight falling suddenly upon some forbidding cliff, and that moment I knew how deep and wonderful must be the love which beat in that old heart for Lessie.

"La! Now, chil'," said Granny, "have yo' way if yo' mus', but be keerful--always be keerful. 'Specially o' men folks, 'cus they's so full o' Sat'n 'n' mischief."

With that she sniffed resignedly, uplifted her brows, carefully freed herself from the caressing arms and picked up the sock and the ball of yarn, both of which had fallen to the floor under Lessie's onslaught.

As the girl arose to her feet Granf'er appeared a second time. He had not removed the badge of domestic toil which had enveloped his nether half when I first saw him, and he was dragging a low, shuck-bottomed chair behind him. It came down the step leading from the porch into the house with a b.u.mp and a clatter, and Granny blazed out again.