"Why don't yo'-all buy a mountain hoss? Thes hoss wasn't cut out fo' thes country," observed Belle-Ann.
"Mabby hit's 'cause I hain't aimin' t' stay in thes country, Belle-Ann."
She shot a quick look at him. He met her eyes and noted a glint of suspicion in them, so he hurried to forestall any utterance in reference to his mysterious sojourns the past two years.
"Yo' see, I'm layin' off t' git married, Belle-Ann," he explained, watching her oval features narrowly; "an' when I do, I 'low t' settle down below, whar th' folks stan's t' give a honest man a chanst."
Belle-Ann turned wondering eyes upon him.
She had never before heard anything coming from Orlick but arrogant self-praise; hence she marveled at his meek voice and doleful aspect.
"Whut makes yo' look so sorry—air yo're gal so powerful ugly?" Try as she would, she could not restrain a sudden burst of mirth, and she laughed outright.
Now, if Belle-Ann's accents were soothing and captivating in speech, verily, her laugh rivaled the rippling sweetness of the lute. It trailed across Orlick's mood like a tonic and fired his face with a hot flush of anticipation.
"Ugly!" he ejaculated—"ugly—no, Belle-Ann. She air th' all-fired'st purttiest gal in all Kentucky—an' she hain't fer away, either, I 'low!"
Saying this, he came perilously near to overrunning the ethics of the mountains and seizing her in his arms and smothering her with his kisses.