"Woman! What are you doing?" he screamed.
"Her name is Young Annie Halliway," I explained.
"Young Annie Halliway—Come Here!" screamed Old Man Smith.
Young Annie Halliway came here. She was perfectly gentle about it. All her ways were gentle. She sat down on the ground at Old Man Smith's feet. She lifted her eyes to Old Man Smith's eyes. She looked holy. But all the time that she looked so holy she kept right on braiding the handle of the blue china cup into her hair. It cranked against the tin trumpet. It sounded a little like the 4th of July.
Old Man Smith reached down and took her chin in his hands.
"Oh my Lord—what a beautiful face!" he said. "What a beautiful face!—And you say she's lost her mind?" he said. "You say she's lost her mind?" He turned to Carol. "And what do you say?" he asked.
"Oh, please, Sir, Carol doesn't say anything!" I explained. "He can't! He's dumb!"
"Dumb?" cried Old Man Smith. "So this is the Dumb Child, is it?" He looked at Carol. He looked at himself. He looked at my freckles. He rocked his hands on his stomach. "Merciful God!" he said. "How are we all afflicted!"
"Oh, please, Sir," I said, "my brother Carol isn't afflicted at all!—It's a great gift my Mother says to be born with the Gift of Silence instead of the Gift of Speech!"
He made a little chuckle in his throat. He began to look at Young Annie Halliway all over again.