"She's a sassy girl, Hanna. Your John a deacon and hers lies molderin' in his grave, a sui—"
Mrs. Scogin Bevins flung herself up, then, a wave of red riding up her face.
"If you don't go up—if you—don't! Go—now! Honest, you're gettin' so luny you need a keeper. Go—you hear?"
The door shut slowly, inclosing the old figure. She relaxed to the couch, trying to laugh.
"Luny!" she said. "Bats! Nobody home!"
"I like your hair like that, Kittie. It looks swell."
"It's easy. I'll fix it for you some time. It's the vampire swirl. All the girls are wearing it."
"Remember the night, Kit, we was singin' duets for the Second Street Presbyterian out at Grody's Grove and we got to hair-pullin' over whose curls was the longest?"
"Yeh. I had on a blue dress with white polka-dots."
"That was fifteen years ago. Remember Joe Claiborne promised us a real stage-job, and we opened a lemonade-stand on our front gate to pay his commission in advance?"