"W'y, Lance, he says he's a-goin' to have dancin', and a plenty 131 of it," she announced with impish gusto—there would never be any hanging for a lamb with Polly; she was somewhat of Lance's kidney. She backed a pace or two outside the door, stepping as warily as a wildcat might, before she concluded, "An' he 'lowed to have you do the callin' off, A' Roxy! He said be shore an' come—that he was a-dependin' on you to call off for 'em to dance!"
The Widow Griever made a dive for the bundle gripped in Polly's stringy little arm. But the girl, far too quick for her, backed half way to the gate. She must make a virtue of necessity.
"Well, you can take that thar quilt over to Callisty," she harangued. "I won't deny it to her, and I hope it may do good. If tham men is a-goin' to git up a dance, you tell her she needn't expect to see me nor mine; but the quilt I'll send. You give it to her, and come right straight back to this house. You hear me, you Polly Griever?—straight back!"
The last adjuration was shouted after Polly's thudding bare feet as they went flying once more down the short cut into the gulch.
"Yes'm," came back the faint hail. "I will, A' Roxy."
Deep in the hollow where the waters of Laurel gurgled about the roots of the black twisted bushes that gave it its name, where 132 ordinarily a body would be fearfully afraid at such a time—blind man's holiday, and neither dark nor light in the open, while here the shadows lay like pools of ink—Polly Griever sat herself down in great content to put on her shoes and stockings. She was puffing a little, but the success of her enterprise had so fired her that all thoughts of ha'nts and such-like were banished. She hauled up the home-knit hose over her slim shanks and knobby knees, girding them in place with a gingham string, and hastily laced on her cowhide shoes. Being then in full evening dress, she made a more leisurely way up the steep to Lance's cabin, prepared to take in and enjoy all the festivities of the occasion.
She found the house alight and humming. Octavia Gentry and old Ajax had arrived, and the latter was throned in state as usual by the chimney-side—the evening was cool for September, and the flickering blaze that danced up the broad throat was welcome for its heat as well as for light. The mother-in-law was everywhere, looking at the contrivances for housekeeping, full of fond pride in what she saw, anxious to convince the young people that she did not resent their unceremonious behavior of the night before. She pinched the new window curtains between her fingers, and advised Callista to pin newspapers behind them in ordinary times lest the sun fade their colors. She helped at the lighting of 133 the new lamp, and finally settled down in the kitchen among the supper preparations.
"Looks right funny to be here to an infare this night, when we-all helt the weddin' without you last night," Octavia commented amiably. "I did wish the both o' you could have been thar to see the fun. The gals and boys got to playin' games, and sorter turned it into a play-party. Look like they hardly could stop theirselves for supper. Big as our house is, hit ain't so suited to sech as yourn." Again she looked commendingly about her. "I tell you, Callista," she said over and over again, "I think yo' Lance has showed the most good sense in his building and fixing up of any young man I ever knew."
But she need not have troubled greatly; Lance had no consciousness of offense in him; and he was busy welcoming guests, going out to help the men unhitch, showing those who had ridden where they might tether their horses; or, if they liked, unsaddle and turn them loose in his brush-fenced horse lot, which was later to be a truck-patch; greeting his father and Sylvane, and grinning over the fact that Roxy was not with them, while Mary Ann Martha was.
"Roxana had got it into her head someway that you-all aimed to dance, and come she would not," Kimbro said plaintively.