“That they will,” broke in Alison, “and Neal will bring me something from there because I was the one who answered his letter.”
“Oh, that is why you wrote, was it?” said Christine. “Loaves and fishes, was it? I thought you did not seem averse to the task.”
Alison laughed. “That is where I got ahead of you.”
“He will bring me something, too,” said Christine. “See if he doesn’t.”
“Oh, of course,” pouted Alison; “you think that because you are the older.”
“You’re taller than Tiny, now,” said Hannah Maria. “You certainly have shot up mightily in the past year. It’s been that sence Neal lef’, ain’t it?”
“It is just about a year; he left with John.”
“So he did. Reub and Iry went ahead of ’em, I remember. Well, I’m sure I hope they’ll git back safe. You ain’t a-goin’?”
The girls insisted that they could not stay longer and in spite of Hannah Maria’s protests, took their departure, leaving the good soul still sitting on the step comfortably rubbing snuff, the hounds which had moved at the leave-taking again dropping down heavily on the floor, and the piglet complacently grunting in a mud-hole by the gate.
By contrast to the Haleys’ the Van Dorns’ neat house seemed doubly attractive. The gallery here was enclosed by slatted shutters which protected it from the sun, providing a cool and pleasant retreat. One of Blythe’s dogs lay outside, but after lifting his head and perceiving friends he simply thwacked his tail upon the step and went to sleep again. The fence here kept out all visiting hens, and the little garden smiled in its luxuriance of bloom. Vines clambered over the house, and a huge oak at a little distance rustled pleasantly and cast long shadows across the grass. From its thick foliage a mocking-bird sent forth a few liquid notes, for the day’s heat was over and the darkness, which in this latitude shut down suddenly, would soon invite the night bird’s song.