"You—live near?" I said, never once thinking of passing on now that my apology was spoken.
"Uh-huh; at Lizard P'int. 'Tain't fur—up th' holler a bit."
The simple words struck me almost like a blow. The voice was sweet as a flute in its lowest tones, the lips were red and curving, but the speech was the uncouth vernacular of the hills. Fate had indeed cheated her.
As I nervously drew out my pipe, thinking what I should say next, she discovered a rent on her shoulder where the careless claws of the scared squirrel had torn the fabric of her dress. She gave a little exclamation of annoyance, thrust one finger in the torn place, pouted as a child might for an instant, then laughed and tossed her garlanded head.
"I don't keer! Granny'll fix it!"
It was my cue.
"Who is Granny?"
"Granny?... Oh! my granny. We live together."
"On Lizard Point," I supplemented. "Doesn't anyone else live with you?"
She nodded her head brightly.