During the momentary silence which followed I heard shuffling footsteps within, and an old man appeared in the open doorway in front of me. He wore a shirt made of bed ticking; his trousers were not visible, because of the coffee-sack which wrapped him from his waist to his shoes. He was bald, his white beard was a fringe about his face, his upper lip shaven. He was drying a white dinner plate of thick ironstone china with a cloth.
"S'firy!" he said, in a squeaky, timorous voice; "S'firy!"
He got no further.
Granny turned her head sideways, at right angle to the speaker, and promptly exploded.
"Jer'bome! Git right back to yo' work! Git! 'N' don't let me see nur hear yo' till them dishes is washed 'n' put away!"
Granf'er (it could be no one else) retreated obediently, without a word. Granny's face swung around to me again.
"If all men wuz as triflin' 'n' ornery as that air'n o' mine, Lord knows whut th' worl' 'd come to. E-tern'l perdition, I reck'n! He jes' lays 'roun' 'n' chaws terbacker, pertendin' he carries a ketch in 'is back. Plum' laziness, I tell yo'! But I don't 'low no vagrints 'roun' me. Jer'bome's got to work 's long 's he b'longs to me.... Now! I said, air you him?"
"I'm the stranger who lives in the shack on Bald Knob."
Granny resumed her knitting at this point. I noticed that her shining needles seemed to be fighting each other as she continued:
"Look whut I'm a-doin' fur 'im now! Slavin' to git somethin' to keep 'is feet warm 'gin winter comes. He's not wuth it! Lak as not he'll crack one o' them dishes 'fo' he gits 'em done. He's that keerless. Most do-less man I ever seen.... Yes, I've heerd 'bout yo'—twict."