“Does your mother know I kep’ yuh comp’ny home from church last night?”
“Unh-hunh.”
“What ’id she say?”
“She didn’t say much.”
“Well, what?”
“Oh, not much.” Emarine was rapidly recovering her self-possession. “I went right in an’ up an’ told her.”
“Well, why can’t choo tell me what she said? Emarine, yuh can be the contrairiest girl when yuh want.”
“Can I?” She flashed a coquettish glance at him. She was quite at her ease by this time, although the color was still burning deep in her cheeks. “I sh’u’dn’t think you’d waste so much time on contrairy people, Mr. Parmer.”
“Oh, Emarine, go on an’ tell me!”
“Well”—Emarine laughed mirthfully—“she put the backs of her hands on her hips—this way!” She faced him suddenly, setting her arms akimbo, the shawl’s fringes quivering over her elbows; her eyes fairly danced into his. “An’ she looked at me a long time; then she says—‘Hunh! You—leetle—heifer! You think you’re some pun’kins, don’t you? A-havin’ a beau home from meetin’.”