"Why, who'd you reckon it wuz, maw?" replied Bud, looking up with a broad grin that was not at all concealed by his thin, sandy beard. "A body'd sorter think, ef they 'uz ter ketch you gwine on that away, that you 'spected ter find some great somebody er nuther a-roostin' in here."
Mrs. Stucky, by way of responding, stirred the pine-knots until they gave forth a more satisfactory light, hung her bonnet on the bedpost, and seated herself wearily in a rickety chair, the loose planks of the floor rattling and shaking as she moved about.
"Now, who in the nation did you reckon it wuz, maw?" persisted Bud, still grinning placidly.
"Some great somebody," replied Mrs. Stucky, brushing her gray hair out of her eyes and looking at her son. At this Bud could contain himself no longer. He laughed almost uproariously.
"Well, the great Jemimy!" he exclaimed, and then laughed louder than ever.
"Wher've you been?" Mrs. Stucky asked, when Bud's mirth had subsided.
"Away over yander at the depot," said Bud, indicating Little Azalia. "An' I fotch you some May-pops too. I did that! I seed 'em while I wuz a-gwine 'long, an' I sez ter myself, sezee, 'You jess wait thar tell I come 'long back, an' I'll take an' take you ter maw,' sezee."
Although this fruit of the passion-flowers was growing in profusion right at the door, Mrs. Stucky gave this grown man, her son, to understand that May-pops such as he brought were very desirable indeed.
"I wonder you didn't fergit 'em," she said.
"Who? me!" exclaimed Bud. "I jess like fer ter see anybody ketch me fergittin' 'em. Now I jess would. I never eat a one, nuther—not a one."