"Whut on airth air gels comin' to this day 'n' time?—tell me that! Never seen 'im but onct—mought be a redhanded 'sass'n—ur a thief—ur—ur—ur anythin'! 'N' all my teach'n' all these years. W'en I've tol' yo' that all men were 'ceptious, 'n' tol' yo' to b'lieve nothin' they say, 'n' tol' yo' to have no talk with 'em but 'Howdy' 'n' 'Good-by,' 'n' here yo' air a-huggin' a stranger—teetot'l stranger—'fo' my eyes!"
Granny's jelly-like body really trembled with rage, and I began to have fears for the outcome of the incident. Of course, it amounted to nothing at all so far as right or wrong was concerned. It was simply a natural expression of the primeval simplicity which marked all the Dryad's movements. She was a child, and she had played a child's trick.
She now stood a few feet to one side, looking at me in unfeigned amazement, apparently indifferent to the old woman's outburst. She was dressed nicer than when I saw her before. Her garment was pale green, with little wavy stripes of darker color. Her shoes, too, were a grade better, but still clumsy, and she had a ribbon on her hair, which hung, as before, down her shoulders. She seemed averse to wearing anything on her head, for she held her bonnet—a poke bonnet, like the one I had handed her in the glade—in her left hand.
As she looked fully and squarely at me with her peculiar Irish gray eyes, I felt the same sensation come as when I had first beheld her. It was a feeling I cannot adequately describe, because no definite word I can think of would do. If the word existed, and if I knew it, I would set it down. I should be just as glad to know what that feeling meant as you. Perhaps each of us shall find out later.
She gazed at me and I gazed at her, and Granny gazed at us both. Our eyes met for a full breath, and then somehow mine fell to her throat. When a woman's throat is beautiful it is altogether as attractive as a lovely face. The Dryad's throat was a poem. If John Keats could have seen it, another golden ode would have come down along with the famous seven. It was simply a perfect column of warm, white, vigorous young life. Not too slender, and swelling on to the shoulders in the gentlest, most marvelous contour. It was while I was engaged in fascinated contemplation of her throat she spoke.
"Land sakes!... How'd yo' know my name?"
"The Sa—Jeff Angel told me."
"Oh!"
Her face underwent a rapid change, and the next moment she had leaped lightly upon the porch, flung her arms around Granny's neck and snuggled her head against the old woman's bosom.
"Don't you bother 'bout me, Granny!" she said, in soothing tones, and again that indefinable haunting cadence smote my ears and caused me to stir uneasily as I stood watching the scene. What a creature of moods this girl was!