But, in consideration for him, they never alluded to the approaching wedding. They only kept their eyes and ears open, like the sharp little foxes that they were.
One day, however, when all three were walking through the wintry woods on their way to Greenbushes, Le himself, for the first time, alluded to the subject.
“How do you like your intended brother-in-law?” he inquired.
“What! that British beer barrel? I mean that English gentleman? I hate him! I detest him! I loathe him! I abhor him! And if there is any stronger word in the English or any other language, I that him!” exclaimed Wynnette, clenching her fist and grinding her teeth.
“I say my prayers three times a day not to hate him; but, oh, dear!” sighed little Elva.
“And I’ll tell you what it is, Le. She hates him worse than I do,” added Wynnette.
“My child! ‘She?’ Who?” exclaimed Le, starting, and coming to a dead halt.
“Why, Odalite.”
“Wynnette, do you know what you are saying, dear?” demanded Le, in great agitation.
They had now reached Chincapin Creek bridge, and all had come to a stop.