“I don't think he will want to; but it's John Fleming.”
She took his hand. “You didn't tell me yours,” he said, holding the little red fingers, “in case I wanted to know.”
It pleased her to consider the rejoinder intensely witty. She showed all her little teeth, threw away his hand, and said:—
“G' long with ye, Mr. Fleming. It's Tinka”—
“Tinker?”
“Yes; short for Katinka,—Katinka Jallinger.”
“Good-by, Miss Jallinger.”
“Good-by. Dad's name is Henry Boone Jallinger, of Kentucky, ef ye was ever askin'.”
“Thank you.”
He turned away as she swiftly re-entered the house. As he walked away, he half expected to hear her voice uplifted again in the camp-meeting chant, but he was disappointed. When he reached the top of the hill he turned and looked back at the cabin.