During that fortnight Janice drove all over the county. The Upper Road, past Elder Concannon’s, became her favorite drive, for the roadway itself was much smoother than many of those about Polktown. She took Miss ’Rill and her mother out in the car, and while the younger lady was made speechless with delight, Mrs. Scattergood became even more voluble than usual.
“I declare for’t! I wouldn’t ever have thought ’twould be like this. One o’ these here ortermobiles has allus seemed to me like nothin’ more’n a whiz, a toot, an’ a awful stench behind! But wait till I write to my darter-in-law at Skunk’s Holler an’ tell her I’ve re’lly rid in one. She won’t scurce believe it,” said the old lady. “My! it makes one feel scand’lous proud. I shouldn’t wonder if ’twas as the old Elder say—it’s prophesied against in Holy Writ. But there ’tis,” added Mrs. Scattergood reflectively; “it does seem as though ev’rything smart and progressive is frowned upon by the Elder. He’s always been opposin’ things ever since I can remember anything about him. He’s most as obsternate as Abel Snow, and they say he forgot himself at his own weddin’, an’ when the parson axed was there any objection to the marriage, Abel spoke up an’ says, ‘I’m agin’ it!’”
It was on the occasion when she had the Scattergoods in the tonneau that Janice experienced her first accident—for the amazement of Walky Dexter’s horse could not really be catalogued under that name.
Some distance beyond Elder Concannon’s house was a cross road that went over the mountain through a very beautiful piece of woodland, and Janice often took that route when driving for pleasure. It was lovely, for the forest was so dense in some places that the road was always shady and cool, and there was but one dwelling for miles.
This one building was a squatter’s cabin, and overflowing with children—Janice had never been able to count them—of all sizes and ages. She always ran slowly in passing the house, for she feared one of the babies, like the lank hounds attached to the place, and the draggle-tailed hens, might be sleeping in the dust of the roadway.
When the motor-car passed all the children that were at home ran out and shrieked at it, as usual. Janice could not make friends with the wild little things any more than she could with the rabbits that started up from their forms beside the trail. Mrs. Scattergood expressed her opinion of the ragged little mob at the squatters’ cabin characteristically:
“That’s the Trimmins’ brats. Jest like fleas, ain’t they? And jest as lively. What Elder Concannon lets them stay up here for, I don’t for the life of me see! Trimmins, he won’t work; and Miz’ Trimmins, she can’t work with all them young’uns. It’s a mystery ter me how she kin keep count of ’em. How they find pork and meal is a wonder.”
“Is that Elder Concannon’s house?” asked Janice curiously.
“Why, this whole piece of woods is his!” exclaimed Mrs. Scattergood. “He foreclosed on the Simon Halpin estate. Simon’s widder finally went to the poor farm over Middletown way—she came from there. Ain’t scurcely a cleared acre now, for it’s been let to grow up. And of course that Trimmins is too lazy to farm it.”
“I didn’t see quite so many children there to-day as usual, it seems to me,” Janice said reflectively. “There’s a black-haired girl and a red-haired boy—about of an age, I should say—who usually come out to shout. The boy threw a broken bottle in the road one day. That is another reason why I drive slowly by the cabin. I’m afraid of a puncture.”