“He must ’a’ had a mighty leetle crop,” said Virginia from without the window. Her voice came back into the room softened by the purring air without.
“I’m tawkin’ ’bout gyarden corn,” said Mr. Scott, failing to appreciate the sarcasm.
Again a silence. The mastiff pup, diverted by the arrival of the new-comer, went sniffing about his redolent person.
“Ef he was a fox,” thought Virginia, dryly, “’twouldn’t take no houn’s ter foller his scent. I could track him a week arter-wards myself.” Out aloud she said, “Air them roots or flowers you brought me?”
“Both,” said Mr. Scott.
Another pause.
“The tarryfied fever’s a-ragin’ up ter Annesville,” he announced, presently.
Virginia faced about for the first time. “Is it?” she asked. “Who’s down?”
“Nigh all o’ them Davises. The doctor says as how it’s ’count o’ their makin’ fertilizer in their cellar.”