“‘Would?’ what?—who? I don’t understand you, boy.”
“Her, Miss. I telled her she couldn’t, nohow, but she ’lowed she must, anyhow. And I telled her she shouldn’t then, there! and she ’lowed she would, so there!”
“Would what, Jake?”
“See you immediate, Miss.”
“Who would see me?”
“Her, Miss.”
“Who is she?”
“The young woman, which I think she is crazy, Miss, and not safe to be seed.”
“Oh, dear! dear me, Jake, what young woman are you talking of?” said Miss Lyon, impatiently.
“Her as runned in out’n the storm, Miss, and said how she must see you; and I telled her she wasn’t fit to be seed herself, being drippen’ wet, nor safe to be seed, being sort o’ cracked, and—oh my laws! there she is now, a followed of me!” exclaimed the boy, breaking off in dismay, to stare with wide mouth and eyes at the opening door.