The winding footpath near the cliff’s edge gave a magnificent view of the peaks which formed a huge semicircle around Indian Mountain. “I’d almost like to live up here,” said Nancy Jane. “It’s more sightly than back in the hills and so near Bentville.”
The two stood near the sagging gate of a yard which had been swept clean as a floor. A few long-legged chickens stepped about gingerly. On the very edge of the cliff stood a low frame house, and near it a corn crib set high to keep out the rats. The path to the spring led through the yard.
“The Haggis family live here,” announced Mallie as she held the gate open. “Miss Howard told me about them last night—they’re awfully poor.”
A small, fat boy wearing a single loose garment was busily playing in the rain barrel. He had a gourd with which he dipped the water out into a pail, sprinkling himself plentifully meanwhile. In the house breakfast was over, and Mrs. Haggis walked around heavily as though her night’s sleep had failed to rest her. She looked old from sickness and overwork; but the girls knew that look—nearly all the mountain women had it—and judged her to be about forty-five.
“Howdy,” she said, beaming at them as they approached the house. “I’m proud ter see ye. I was a-feelin’ jest as down-sperited an’ lonesome when ye druv up yistiddy, an’ all of a suddint the chickens begun ter crow like they knew you’d come. How’s Miss Howard? I think a heap o’ seein’ her every year.”
“She’s well,” smiled Nancy Jane, “and coming over to see you to-day. We were all pretty tired last night and went to bed early.”
“I hope our cow didn’t keep ye awake; Job found her thar come light this mornin’. I reckon she’s proud you’ve come—like we-uns.”
The girls laughed merrily. “Urilla drove her off in the night. She was browsing around the bushes ringing her bell like a fire alarm; it was too funny!” Mallie ended the recital with such evident enjoyment of the situation that Mrs. Haggis joined in the laugh.
“Hit’s comin’ two weeks sence a soul war on this mounting,” sighed the woman, “an’ I’m too porely ter travel any. Didn’t you never feel like you’d jest got ter talk to some one ’sides your own folks? When I’m shet of the men folks fer the day an’ can’t even see ’em workin’ in the cove or hear old Barb’s bell, thar ain’t a human ter talk to ’cept Elam, onless my Rodie comes up from the Hollow an’ packs her baby up these yere rocks.”
Mrs. Haggis was walking along with them toward the spring, talking eagerly. Little Elam had grabbed Nancy Jane’s proffered finger and was trotting by her side; with his other hand he held his dress up as he had seen his mother do. Both the girls noticed how clean the faded blue calico was, and that the back yard was swept as carefully as the front.