He lifted his hand to the low eaves of the porch,—for he was very tall,—and the motion dislodged a few flakes that fell upon her head. He did not notice them.
“I hearn Mis’ Purvine ’low ye air all plumb outdone with Mink, an’ wouldn’t hev him ef he war ter ax ye agin,—an’ I reckon ye won’t see him no mo’. ’Tain’t likely, ye know. An’ Mis’ Purvine ’lowed ye hed been mightily struck with a man in Shaftesville,—a town cuss” (with acrimony), “ez war mighty nigh demented ’bout yer good looks an’ sech. Now, Lethe, ye dunno nuthin’ ’bout’n them town folks, an’ the name they hev got at home, ’mongst thar neighbors.”
She looked steadily at him, never moving a muscle save to cast more scraps to the hounds, who, when their tidbits became infrequent, or were accidentally buried in the snow by inopportune movements of their paws, gamboled about to attract her attention; rising upon their hind legs, and almost dancing, in a manner exceedingly creditable to untrained mountain dogs.
“An’ I ’lowed I war a tremenjious fool ter hev kep out’n the way ’count o’ Mink,—jes’ ’kase ye seemed ter set so much store by him. T’other folks mought kem in whilst I war a-holdin’ back. Nobody ain’t never goin’ ter keer fur ye like I do, Lethe. Mink don’t—never did. An’ my house air ready fur ye enny day ye’ll walk in. I got ye a rockin’-cheer the t’other day, an’ a spinnin’-wheel. It looks like home, sure enough, down thar, Lethe. I jes’ gazed at that thar rockin’-cheer afore the fire till I could fairly see ye settin’ in it. But shucks, I kin hear ye callin’ chickens roun’ thar,—‘Coo-chee, Coo-chee!’—enny time I listens right hard.” He laughed in embarrassment because of his sentimentality. “I reckon I mus’ be gittin’ teched in the head.”
It was snowing again. From those stupendous heights above the Great Smoky Mountains down into the depths of Piomingo Cove the flakes steadily fell. Myriads of serried white atoms interposed a veil, impalpable but opaque, between Wild-Cat Hollow and the rest of the world. Doaks looked about him a little, and resumed suddenly:——
“I ain’t purtendin’ I’m better ’n other men. I never could git religion. I ain’t nigh good enough fur ye,—only I think mo’ of ye. I’m mean ’bout some things. I couldn’t holp but think, whenst I hearn ’bout Mink, ez now ye’d gin him up. I warn’t bodaciously glad, but I couldn’t holp thinkin’ ’twar better fur ye an’ me. Ye’d be happier married ter me, Lethe, than ter him, enny time.”
“I ain’t never goin’ to marry you-uns, Ben,” she said drearily. “An’ now ye hev hed yer say, an’ thar’s no use a-jawin’ no mo’ ’bout’n it.”
She turned to go in. Tige was already scratching at the door, as eager for the fire as he had been for his supper. She glanced at Ben over her shoulder, with some appreciation of his constancy, some pity for his disappointment.
“Ye hed better go make a ch’ice ’mongst some o’ them gals in the cove,” she suggested.
He cast a glance of deep reproach upon her, and followed her silently into the house. Their return was the occasion of some slight flutter in the home circle, in which had prevailed the opinion that the young folks out in the cold “war a-courtin’.”