"Then I'll go put on some more to cook."
"Oh, no—please don't—I couldn't eat anything—really, I couldn't." The girl spoke hysterically.
Just then Jeb came round the house and appeared in the doorway.
He grinned and winked at Susan, looked at his sister. "Well,
Keziah," said he, "what d'ye think of her?"
"She says she's going to stay to dinner," observed Keziah, trying to maintain the veneer of manners she had put on for company.
The young man laughed loudly. "That's a good one—that is!" he cried, nodding and winking at Susan. "So you ain't tole her? Well, Keziah, I've been and gone and got married. And there she is."
"Shut up—you fool!" said Keziah. And she looked apologetically at their guest. But the expression of Susan's face made her catch her breath. "For the Lord's sake!" she ejaculated. "She ain't married you!"
"Why not?" demanded Jeb. "Ain't this a free country? Ain't I as good as anybody?"
Keziah blew out her breath in a great gust and seated herself on the tattered calico cover of the sofa. Susan grew deathly white. Her hands trembled. Then she sat quiet upon the edge of the old rush-bottomed chair. There was a terrible silence, broken by Jeb's saying loudly and fiercely, "Keziah, you go get the dinner. Then you pack your duds and clear out for Uncle Bob's."
Keziah stared at the bride, rose and went to the rear door. "I'm goin' now," she answered. "The dinner's ready except for putting on the table."
Through the flimsy partitions they heard her mounting the uncarpeted stairs, hustling about upon an uncarpeted floor above, and presently descending. "I'll hoof it," she said, reappearing in the doorway. "I'll send for my things this afternoon."