CHAPTER XIII
LYDDY DOESN’T WANT IT
“Who is this Mr. Spink?” asked Lydia Bray the following morning, as they prepared for church.
It was a beautiful spring morning. There had been a pattering shower at sunrise and the eaves were still dripping, while every blade of the freshly springing grass in the side yard–which was directly beneath the girls’ window–sparkled as though diamond-decked over night.
The old trees in the orchard were pushing both leaf and blossom–especially the plum and peach trees. In the distance other orchards were blowing, too, and that spattered the mountainside with patches of what looked to be pale pink mist.
The faint tinkling of the sheep-bells came across the hills to the ears of Lyddy and ’Phemie. The girls were continually going to the window or door to watch the vast panorama of the mountainside and valley, spread below them.
“Who is this Mr. Spink?” repeated Lyddy.
Her sister explained what she knew of the man who–once a poorhouse boy–was now counted a rich man and the proprietor of Diamond Grits, the popular breakfast food.
“He lived here at Hillcrest as a boy, with grandfather,” ’Phemie said.
“But what’s that got to do with his coming up here now–and at night?”
“And with Mr. Pritchett?” finished ’Phemie.