"It's all the stranger," he said, "because I can't forget our first meeting. Then you were the spirit of warfare. I can still seem to see you standing there barring the path; your eyes ablaze and your nostrils aquiver with righteous wrath."
For an instant, in recollection of the incident, she forgot her timidity and there flashed into her face the swift illumination of a smile.
"Thet war when I 'lowed ye war an enemy. Folks don't show no—I mean don't show any—fear of thar enemies. Leastways—at least—mountain folks don't."
He understood that attitude, but he smiled, pretending to misconstrue it.
"Then I'm not dangerous as an enemy? It's only when I seek to be a friend that I need be feared?"
Her flush deepened into positive confusion and her reply was faltering.
"I didn't mean nothin' like thet. Hit's jest thet when I tries ter talk with ye, I feels so plumb ign'rant an'—an' benighted—thet—thet——" She broke off and the man leaning on the fence bent toward her.
"You mean that when you talk to me you think I'm comparing you with the girls I know down below, isn't that it?"
Blossom nodded her head and added, "With gals—girls I mean—that wears fancy fixin's an' talks grammar."
"Sit down there for a minute, Blossom," he commanded, and when she had enthroned herself on the square-hewn horse-block by the gate he seated himself, cross-legged at her feet.