She brought out the old flint-lock, and handed it to him almost
timidly.
This is very interesting," he said. " I never saw one like it before."
"Thar hain't but one more jest like that in the mountains," said the
old woman, " 'n' Easter's got that. My dad made 'em both."
"How would you like to trade one for mine, if you have two?" said
Clayton to the girl. "I'll give you all my cartridges to boot."
The girl looked at her mother with hesitation. Clayton saw that
both wondered what he could want with the gun, and he added:
"I'd like to have it to take home with me. It would be a great
curiosity."
"Well," said the mother, "you kin hev one ef ye want hit, and think
the trade's fa'r."
Clayton insisted, and the trade was made. The old woman resumed
spinning. The girl took her seat in the low chair, holding her new
treasure in her lap, with her eyes fixed on it, and occasionally
running one brown hand down its shining barrel. Clayton watched
her. She had given no sign whatever that she had ever seen him
before, and yet a curious change had come over her. Her imperious
manner had yielded to a singular reserve and timidity. The
peculiar beauty of the girl struck him now with unusual force. Her
profile was remarkably regular and delicate; her mouth small,
resolute, and sensitive; heavy, dark lashes shaded her downcast
eyes; and her brow suggested a mentality that he felt a strong
desire to test.
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