"Me? Ter 'Rill Scattergood? Naw!" declared the amazed Marty. "I sh'd say not!"
"Why, Marty!" exclaimed his mother. "That ain't perlite."
"Who said 'twas?" returned her hopeful son, shortly. "I ain't tryin' ter be perlite ter no girl. And I ain't goin' ter 'Rill Scattergood's school—never, no more!"
"Young man," commanded his father, angrily, "you hold that tongue o' yourn. And you be perlite to your cousin, or I'll dance the dust out o' your jacket with a hick'ry sprout, big as ye be."
Janice hastened to change the subject and tune the conversation to a more pleasant key.
"It is so pretty all over this hillside," she said. "Around Greensboro the country is flat. I think the hills are much more beautiful. And the lake is just dear."
"Ya-as," sighed her aunt. "Artis' folks come here an' paint this lake.
I reckon it's purty; but ye sort er git used ter it after a while."
It was evidently hard for Aunt 'Mira to enthuse over anything. Marty volunteered:
"We got a waterfall on our place. Folks call it the Shower Bath.
Guess a girl would think 'twas pretty."
"Oh! I'd love to see that," declared Janice, quickly.