"No," said he, "I ain't—an' never will be."
His tone was definitely bitter. Never were the "sounds of progress more ungraciously received than there among the mountains by the folk who had, hedged in by their fastnesses, become almost a race apart, ignorant of the outside world's progressions and distrustful and suspicious of them.
"Where you goin', Madge?" he asked, plodding on beside the lurching ox.
"I ain't tellin'," she said briefly. "But you can go part ways—you can go fur as th' pasture bars."
"Why can't I go as fur as you go?"
"Because," said she, and laughed. "I reckon maybe that th' water's started to warm up down in the pool, ain't it?" she cried, and laughed again.
"Oh!" said he, a bit abashed, and evidently understanding.
They did not pursue the subject.
"What you got there?" he inquired, a few moments later, as they were approaching the old pasture. He pointed to a package carefully wrapped in a clean apron, which she hugged beneath her arm.
"Spellin' book," said Madge, as, just before the bars she slid down from her perch upon the ox. "I'm learnin'."