“Waal, sir! I never seen the beat.” Then in imperative crescendo, “Ye Mink!”
She pushed the door open, presently. The moonlight slanted through the porch and into the little bedroom, revealing the bed, empty, the room deserted save for Mrs. Purvine’s rows of dresses hanging by the neck, and the piles of quilts on a shelf, rising in imposing proportions to attest her industry and a little help from Lethe Sayles.
He had fled,—when, why? She could not say; she could not imagine. She stood staring, with a vacillating expression on her face. She was ready for an outburst of futile anger, could she construe it as one of his minkish tricks; he might even now be far away, laughing to picture how she would look when she would stand at the open door and find the room empty. Her face reddened at the thought. But perhaps, she argued, more generously, he had taken some alarm, and fled for safety.
Mrs. Purvine had had no experience in keeping secrets, and her colloquial habits were such as did not tend to cultivate the gift. More than once, the next day, as she pondered on the mysterious disappearance of Mink, she would drop her hands and exclaim in meditative wonderment, “Waal! waal! waal! This worl’! This worl’! an’ a few mo’ ekal ter it.”
It went hard with her to resist the curious questionings that this demonstration was calculated to excite. But when asked what she was talking about she would only reply in enigmatical phrase, “Laros to ketch meddlers!” and shake her head unutterably. Nevertheless, when it became evident that her household had exhausted all their limited wiles to elicit the mystery of which she seemed suddenly and incomprehensibly possessed, and had reluctantly desisted, her resolution grew weaker instead of stronger, and she was bereft of a piquant interest in their queries and guesses. She began herself to play around the dangerous subject; her remarks seemed to excite no suspicion and no surprise, and thus she was astonished in her turn.
“I wonder, Jerry,” she said, as he and she, their pipes freshly lighted after supper, strolled about the “gyarden-spot” to note how the truck was thriving, Bose and a comrade or two at their heels,—“I wonder how high that thar new bredge be over the Tennessee Ruver?”
“Never medjured it,” returned Jerry, his eyes twinkling as they met her serious gaze.
“Ye g’ ’long!” exclaimed Mrs. Purvine tartly. She was addressing only the unfilial spirit that prompted his reply, for she had no intention of dismissing the audience, as she resumed at once in her usual tone. “Waal, from all ye hev hearn, wouldn’t ye ’low ez ennybody jumpin’ off’n it war ’bleeged ter break thar neck?” she argued.
“I’d hev thunk so,” admitted Jerry, “but it seems not.”