“I tell yo’, chile, I saw Burke’s back; don’t yo’ reckon I know Lawson when I see him, back or front? Don’t yo’ want ter marry Lawson, Nella-Rose?”
“No, I wouldn’t have him if he asked me. It would be like marrying a tree that the freshet was rolling about. I’m not going to seek and hide with any man.”
“Why don’t yo’ let Marg have ’im then? She’d be a right smart responsibility.”
“She can have him and welcome, if she can find him!” Then, hearing her sister outside, she called:
“Come in, Marg. Shut out the cold and the dark. What’s the use of acting like a little old hateful?”
Marg slouched in; there was no other word to describe her indifferent and contemptuous air.
“He’s coming around?” she asked, nodding at her father.
“Yes—he’s come,” Nella-Rose admitted.
“All right, then, I’m going to tell him something!” She walked over to her father and stood before him, looking him steadily in the eyes.
“I—I killed the hog to-day;” she spoke sharply, slowly, as to a dense child. Peter Greyson started.