“I wish to goodness you could,” sighed Azalea fervently. “But you seem to be the only person around here who even wants to do such a thing—”
She broke off her sentence suddenly, remembering that she had heard Mr. Rowantree say that teaching was the one thing in the way of work that he actually enjoyed. She told Paralee.
“He’d do it,” she cried, “if only I had some way of getting word to him. It seems such a pity to break up school just when we’re getting it so nicely started, doesn’t it? And this is little Skully Simms’ first day, too! I couldn’t really answer for what might happen if he got there and met the Coulters and their friends face to face.”
“Oh, that thar Bud Coulter’ll keep his word about not tetching the little cuss,” said Paralee placidly. (She was a Coulter in her sympathies.) “But I’ll tell you what, Miss Azalea, you jest say the word and I’ll run shortcuts over to the Rowantrees and tell them what’s doing.”
“Oh, will you, Paralee? Dare you? Oughtn’t you to be with your father and mother?”
“Nope. They’re all right, I reckon. Mr. Thompson, he’s to take ’em down to the afternoon train. Pa ain’t looking very peart, but it warn’t to be expected that he would. Ma acts like she was scared to death, but Mis’ McEvoy’s fixing her out in proper clothes. Mr. McEvoy, he’s gone down to Bee Tree to do some telegraphing about the hospital pa’s to go in. My, ain’t they rich!”
“Rich!” cried Azalea aghast. “Who?”
“Oh, the McEvoys and Mr. Thompson.”
“Rich!” repeated Azalea. But the words died on her lips. So Paralee thought the McEvoys in their two-roomed cabin, and good old Haystack with his fiddle, rich! She only said:
“Have you had breakfast, Paralee?”