“No—but he’s been. He may come again. His maw’s always empty, but I will say this for the scoundrel—he gives more than he takes, in the long run. But if it isn’t Lawson, who then? Not that snake-in-the-grass, Jed?” Love and trouble were synonymous with Lois Ann when one was young and pretty and a fool.
“Jed? Jed indeed!”
“Child, out with it!”
“I—I am going to tell you, Miss Lois Ann.”
Then the knotted old hand fell like a withered leaf upon the soft hair—the woman-heart was ready to bear another burden. Not a word did the closed lips utter while the amazing tale ran on and on in the gentle drawl. Consternation, even doubt of the girl’s sanity, held part in the old woman’s keen mind, but gradually the truth of the confession established itself, and once the fact was realized that a stranger—and such a one—had been hidden in the hills while this thing, that the girl was telling, was going on—the strong, clear mind of the listener interpreted the truth by the knowledge gained through a long, hard life.
“And so, you see, Miss Lois Ann, it’s like he opened heaven for me; and I want to hide here till he comes to take me up, up into heaven with him. And no one else must know.”
Lois Ann had torn the cawl from Nella-Rose’s baby face—had felt, in her superstitious heart, that the child was mysteriously destined to see wide and far; and now, with agony that she struggled to conceal, she knew that to her was given the task of drawing the veil from the soul of the girl at her feet in order that she might indeed see far and wide into the kingdom of suffering women.
For a moment the woman fenced, she would put the cup from her if she could, like all humans who understand.
“You—are yo’ lying to me?” she asked faintly, and oh, but she would have given much to hear the girl’s impish laugh of assent. Instead, she saw Nella-Rose’s eyes grow deadly serious.
“It’s no lie, Miss Lois Ann; it’s a right beautiful truth.”