“Yass, ’m. It’s sut’ny pleasant here; it sut’ny is.”
“I am much obliged; but I shall be going back soon.”
The two old women looked at each other. “Dat dere ole wrack down der beach is moughty cu’us—ef yer like ter walk dat way en see ’em?” suggested Dilsey, after a pause.
“Too far,” said Eve.
Both of the old women declared that it was very near. The wind freshened; Eve, who had little Jack in her arms, feared lest he might take cold, thinly clad as he was—far too thinly for her Northern ideas—with only one fold of linen and his little white frock over his breast. She drew the skirt of her dress over his bare knees. Then after a while she rose and put him in his wagon. “We will go back,” she said.
Again the two old women looked at each other. But they were afraid of the Northern lady; the munificent presents which she had given them that morning did not bring them any nearer to her. Old Temp’rance, therefore, shouldered her chair again, Dilsey turned the wagon, and they entered the bush-bordered tunnel on their way home, walking as slowly as they could. In only one place was there an opening through the serried green; here a track turned off to the right. When Eve had passed its entrance the first time, there was nothing to be seen but another perspective of white sand and glittering foliage; but on their return her eyes, happening to glance that way, perceived a group of figures at the end. “Who are those people?—what are they doing?” she said, pausing.
“Oh, nutt’n,” answered Temp’rance. “Des loungjun roun’.”
As Eve still stood looking, Uncle Abram emerged from the bushes. “Shall I kyar your palasol fer yer, miss?” he asked, officiously. “‘Pears like yer mus’ be tired; been so fur.”
Eve now comprehended that the three were trying to keep something from her. “What has happened?” she said. “Tell me immediately.”
“Dey’ ain’ nutt’n happen,” answered Uncle Abram, desperately; “dey’s too brash, dem two! Miss S’breeny she ’low’d dat yer moutn’t like ter see her go a moanin’, miss; en so she tole us not ter let yer come dishyer way ef we could he’p it. But dem two—dey’s boun’ ter do some fool ting. It’s a cohesion of malice ’mong women—’tis dat!”