“He don’t look like such an old-fashioned man, Simeon Pace don’t,” mused Mrs. McBirney. “He certainly does keep his place up right smart. Them cattle o’ his’n is the best to be seen in the country, and everything around the place is right up in G.”
“Well, old-fashioned he is, but he’s far-seeing too. About five years ago he bought the Caruth Valley and all the uplying land beyond it. I couldn’t see what his idea was, but now I hear that he’s selling it out to Mr. Carson for five times what he paid for it. Mr. Carson wants it for the water power on it. He’s adding to his factory, you see.”
“That will mean work for a good many more of us mountain folks,” observed Mrs. McBirney. “The way Mr. Carson has opened up things for us is just stirring to think about. I don’t know as his efforts are appreciated, but I, for one, know who I have to thank when I see the new things in the house and the good new clothes we’ve been able to get for the children. Why, only this morning I was calling Jim’s attention to it. ‘Look at you,’ I said, ‘in your store clothes and brown shoes and new overcoat and all. You look like a rich man’s son,’ says I. And I declare to goodness when I got out this here new cloak o’ mine, and this bonnet Mrs. Carson made for me out of silk velvet and a real ostrich tip, I could hardly believe it was me. I’m so used to wearing rusty black that I don’t know as I feel quite at home in good deep black like this a-here.”
Jim McBirney, who was sitting on the back seat with Azalea, not caring to listen longer to the conversation of his elders and knowing it was bad manners to disturb them, began whispering.
“I went to Sam Disbrow’s house last evening, sis.” When Jim said “evening” he meant afternoon.
“Did you, Jim? What was it like?”
“Shades all down—rooms all hot—Mrs. Disbrow lying on the settle—Hannah sitting by her, knitting and knitting, and her eyes so crossed you couldn’t think how she could do anything but cross stitch.”
“I’m sorry for Hannah. That’s a dreadful life to lead—being shut up all the time with a sick person. I’ve a good mind to give her a party if mother will let me.”
“Give Hannah Disbrow a party? Why, she’d run like a hare if she saw anybody coming, and she’d drop her ice cream and go home crying. I know Hannah.”
He spoke as if he had made girls and their outlandish ways his particular study.