“Kentucky, though I don’t know as it’s any business of yours. Here, shut up and stop asking me questions. I don’t want to talk to you.”
A grim smile appeared on the man’s face as he continued to regard the girl by his side.
“You seem to be mighty pleased about something,” said Louisa, looking at him disgustedly.
He gave a husky sort of chuckle. “You ain’t asked my name,” he said presently.
“I don’t want to know it. ’Tain’t nothing to me who you are.”
“You’d just as well know. Ever happen to know or hear of anybody named Cyrus Sparks, old Cy Sparks?”
Louisa started, the don’t care expression leaving her face. She leaned eagerly forward and gazed at the man intently. Then she arose and softly closed the door. “Are you any kin of mine?” she asked. “If you are I’m ashamed of you.”
“I rather guess you’ll have to own me,” was the reply. “I shouldn’t wonder if I was your dad.”
Louisa shrank back. “What do you mean? My father died fifteen years ago; my mother told me so.”
“Your mother was Louisa Ricketts, wa’n’t she?”