“She must be,” said Gincy soberly, thinking of Goose Creek and its needs. The second team was passing them and she looked up quickly as a familiar voice called out:
“Hello, what are you-all doing out this way?” It was Joe Bradshaw and his roommate, Raphael Sloan.
“What are you?” she retorted.
“Raf lives out here at Pigg Branch and I’ve been visiting him. We thought you were up at the bungalow and we’d drive up for two or three hours.”
“Awfully sorry,” said Lalla, “we brought our dinners, and—” Then she looked at Miss Howard. That lady smiled.
“You’d better come back with us—we’ll have plenty for two more—then we can all see the baptizing this afternoon.”
The boys needed no second invitation. “We were coming down for that anyhow,” said Raphael, as they turned around.
Miss Clark’s home was close to the church house. It was a log house, built Virginia style, with a wide, covered porch through the centre separating the two sides. This dog-trot was a cool place in warm weather, a place to churn, and wash, a place to visit, and sew, or even take a nap. Mallie sank down upon the old-fashioned couch and looked off toward the cabins across the road. They were scattered up the branch, and on beyond, one perched high in a patch of ploughed ground on the opposite mountain.
“Isn’t this a lovely place!” she exclaimed, glancing back at the trellised nasturtiums and morning-glories against the kitchen windows. “I think Miss Clark is great! Look at those ducks in the branch, and such a lot of chickens. How can she find time for everything?”
“Of course she’s great!” Raphael Sloan sank down on the floor cross-legged. “She can do everything—play the organ, preach a sermon, knock a bench together better than the boys, and ride any horse around here. She rode the most ornery mule in these parts one night. Ever hear about it?”