A Maid of the Kentucky Hills

by Edwin Carlile Litsey

But little explanation is necessary to make clear my position in the hostile camp. To-day is Sunday. When I first arose I began planning a way to reach Celeste—Lessie no longer for me!—without any unpleasant attending circumstances. I had recently been assured by the parish priest that Granny was "a vair releegious woman," and it was upon this fact that I presently laid my schemes. It was probable that Granny attended mass twice on Sunday; beyond doubt she went once. Early mass was over by the time my idea began to crystalize, but the chances were that Granny would go to the later services, because there was a deal of housework to be done at the beginning of each day. Then Granny's large body moved slowly, and the road to Hebron was long. I was vastly comforted when I reached this conclusion, and about ten o'clock I armed myself with primer and copybook and hit the trail for heaven.

I wish the reader—gentle or otherwise—could have taken that trip with me, and felt as I did. I wish everybody in the world could feel, all the time, as I did on that leisurely walk to Lizard Point. There would be no more sin or sorrow, my brothers! It was my first pilgrimage to the shrine of my recognized affection, and my feet trod not upon the good earth, but upon separate little pillows of compressed air. The day left nothing for the most critical to wish for. It was a great, perfumed bloom of light and color, glowing like a jewel in the Master's hand. And in the midst of all this perfection I was the one man seeking the one woman.

Reaching the bridge, I skulked about in the woods like a wild Indian, viewing the house with gradually increasing impatience. But I was rewarded in what my watch declared to be a very few minutes. Granny's ample shape bustled out upon the porch, and she came waddling down the path like an over-fattened goose. She had on her Sunday fixin's; a shiny bombazine black dress and a tiny black bonnet which looked small indeed atop her big head. A palm leaf fan in one hand, a rosary and a handkerchief in the other; thus did S'firy sally forth that morning, while I stood hidden in the shade and grinned, tickled as any schoolboy would be who sees a guard desert a watermelon patch. I could hear her puffing as she reached the road and took up her march south—poor old woman! A long, hot time lay before her, going and coming, and I was convinced she deserved the blessing she hoped to receive.

So that is the way I crept into the hostile lines this morning and began teaching the little wild ma'm'selle.

She was surprised but glad when she saw me. You may be sure I searched her face anxiously, and her welcoming smile and warm, strong handclasp set my heart a-throbbing. I told her at once what I had come for, and asked how long Granny would be away. Three hours, at least, I learned. She was ready and eager to begin her lessons. I inquired about Gran'fer, too, as we sat down together on the porch's edge, and heard that the dinner had been left in his charge, and he was consequently on duty in the kitchen, whence he would scarcely dare emerge until relief came. The fire was to be kept up, and certain vessels holding cooking vegetables were to be kept full of water. Gran'fer would hardly dare run the risk of permitting the beans or potatoes to scorch, and the chance for a happy three hours looked good indeed.

Celeste wore a white shirt waist, brown skirt, leather belt—and slippers! I could barely credit the last fact when my eyes noted it. Where on earth did she get slippers which buttoned across the instep with a strap? She had on black stockings (and right here I want to say, parenthetically, that I think black hose the most becoming color a woman can wear) and altogether presented a far more civilized appearance than she had ever done before. I placed the primer upon her knees, and while she held it open I began teaching her the letters, using my forefinger as an index. Her sunny head bent eagerly to the task, and looking at her face I saw each freckle had become a tiny island in a sea of crimson. She was blushing hotly, probably from the simple fact that she had at last started upon that unknown road which would lead her up and out of the gloomy valley of ignorance where she had always dwelt. I know an answering color came to my cheeks, for they began to burn. Had I been sure Gran'fer would remain faithful to his vegetables I would have told her that moment, for never had mortal woman seemed so lovely and alluring, and never had my heart hammered and pounded so loudly on the stubborn door of my will. I realized that my resolve to hold my tongue until she had become tutored in some degree was an idiotic determination, and that I would prove it so the first time I could catch Celeste where we would be safe from interruption.

Through the twenty-six capitals we went again and again. Then I took the book and asked her to say the alphabet. She fell down on G, but if every failure was accompanied by the doubting, anxious, piteous, altogether captivating expression which distinguished this one, no culprit would ever hear a word of censure.

I hope I am not tiresome. Truth is not always interesting, and you must not question my veracity. To-night I will not avow that my hitherto well balanced mind is perfectly plumb. Since I confessed to my journal I found I have shot into the rapids, and this girl with hair like a potpourri of sunbeams and Irish gray eyes which starts some trembly mechanism to going inside me, is going to be the biggest and most important thing in my life.

Of course I laughed when she said H instead of G, but it was not a laugh that hurt. It was the one which soothes and condones. She laughed, too, and again I saw an upper row of teeth—white as young corn, and as even. In half an hour she had turned the trick, and in addition could name any letter which I might choose on sight. Yes, I was proud of her then, and—yes, I told her so; wouldn't you? We then went through the small letters once or twice, but I did not ask her to learn any of them this morning. Celeste couldn't understand why the big letters and the little letters were not alike, and I couldn't either, so no explanation was forthcoming. Presently the primer was laid aside, and I produced the copybook. The Dryad's interest was just as intense when this branch of her education was brought to her notice.

"Is this writin'?" she queried, suspiciously, indicating the line in script at the top of the page.