"What de matter, honey? Whar Cally-Lou?" Lucindy inquired.
"Why, she went fast asleep in the chair," cried Adelaide, laughing as though it were the funniest thing imaginable, "and no wonder she fell asleep after wandering about the house, pretending she wanted to make sure that I was snivelling under that heavy cover. How can anybody get cold such weather as this?"
Lucindy shook her head. "De han' dat totch mine was col', honey—stone col'."
"Oh, Cally-Lou's hand! Well, she can sit by the fire and still be cold," responded Adelaide. "Cally-Lou is mighty funny," she went on, growing confidential; "she says she is lonesome; she wants to play with growner folks than me."
"Well, honey, I dunner whar she'll fin' um. Dar's Mr. Sanders; sholy he ain't too young fer 'er!"
As though the mention of his name had summoned Mr. Sanders from the dim and vague region where Cally-Lou had her place of residence, those in the kitchen now heard his voice in the house. He had entered, as usual, without taking the trouble to knock, and he came down the long hall, talking and saluting imaginary persons, hoping in that way to attract the attention of Adelaide. Nor was he unsuccessful.
"Well, I declare!" he exclaimed. "Here's Miss Sue Frierson!—an' well-named too, bekaze ever'body knows that she'd fry a sun ef she had one. Howdy, Miss Sue! Miss Susan-Sue! Ef you are well, why I am too! So it's up an' hop to-day. Dr. Honeyman says she won't be well tell she's better. She had company last night, an' she tried for to nod whiles she was standin' up. It'd 'a' been all right ef her feet had n't 'a' gone to sleep. Thereupon, an' likewise whatsoever—as the Peskerwhalian Bishop says—she fell off'n her perch, an' had to be put to bed back'ards. What? You don't know the Peskerwhalian Bishop? Well, his hardware name is William H. Sanders, of the county aforesaid, Ashbank Deestrick, G. M.
"Cally-Lou? Well, I hain't seed the child to-day, but she's up an' about; you'll hear her whistlin' fer company presently. Can't stay? Well, good bye, Miss Susan-Sue; mighty glad I met you when I did. So long, or longer!"
Bowing Miss Frierson out, though she was invisible to all eyes, Mr. Sanders came back toward the kitchen talking to himself. "Well, well! I hadn't seed my Susan-Sue in thirteen year, an' she's jest the same as she was when she engaged herself to me—eyes like they had been jest washed, an' the eend of her nose lookin' like a ripe plum! But sech is life whar we live at. Howdy, Adelaide? Howdy, Lucindy? I hope both of you have taken your stand among my well-wishers."
"La, Mr. Sanders, how you does run on! I b'lieve you er lots wuss'n you used to be!"