“You’ve hed a hard trip,” she said, with a keen glance into his tired, boyish eyes.
“Very hard, Miss Rhody.”
“You have heard about Janey––and Joe?”
“Aunt M’ri just told me,” he said, wincing ever so slightly. 171
“They was all sot on your being her sweetheart, except me and her––and Joe.”
“Why not you, Miss Rhody?”
“You ain’t never been in love with Janey––not the way you’ll love some day. When I was sick last fall Almiry Green come over to read to me and she brung a book of poems. I never keered much for po’try, and Almiry, she didn’t nuther, but she hed jest ketched Widower Pankey, and so she thought it was proper to be readin’ po’try. She read somethin’ about fust love bein’ a primrose, and a-fallin’ to make way fer the real rose, and I thought to myself: ‘That’s David. His feelin’ fer Janey is jest a primrose.’”
David’s eyes were inscrutable, but she continued:
“I knowed she hed allers fancied Joe sence she was a little tot and he give her them beads. When Joe’s name was spoke she was allers shy-like. She wuz never shy-like with you.”
“No,” admitted David wearily, “but I must go on to the farm now, Miss Rhody. I will come in again soon.” 172