"Is that the way
folks dress out in the settlemints? 'N' look at that gal. Ef she hev
done anythin' sence ye hev been gone but____" The rest of the
sentence was smothered in the palm of Easter's hand, and she too
began scrutinizing Clayton closely. The mountaineer said nothing,
and after a curious glance at Easter resumed his pipe.
You look like a pair of butterflies," said the mother when
released. "Sherd oughter be mighty proud of his first marryin'. I
s'pose ye know he air a preacher now? Ye oughter heerd him
preach last Sunday. It was his fust time. The way he lighted inter
the furriners was a caution. He 'lowed he was a-goin' to fight
cyard-playin' and dancin' ez long ez he hed breath."
Yes; 'n' thar's whar Sherd air a fool. I'm ag'in furriners, too, but thar
hain't no harm in dancin, n' thar's goin' to be dancin' at this weddin'
ef I'm alive."
Easter shrank perceptibly when her father spoke, and looked
furtively at Clayton, who winced, in spite of himself, as the rough
voice grated in his ear. Instantly her face grew unhappy, and
contained an appeal for pardon that he was quick to understand
and appreciate. Thereafter he concealed his repulsion, and treated
the rough bear so affably that Easter's eyes grew moist with
gratitude.
Darkness was gathering in the valley below when he rose to go.
Pages:
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100