“Oh, we hears things purty quick in these mountains. Little Dave Tolliver come over here last night.”
“Yes,” broke in Bub, “and he tol' us how you carried Loretty from town on a mule behind ye, and she jest a-sassin' you, an' as how she said she was a-goin' to git you fer HER sweetheart.”
Hale glanced by chance at the little girl. Her face was scarlet, and a light dawned.
“An' sis, thar, said he was a-tellin' lies—an' when she growed up she said she was a-goin' to marry—-”
Something snapped like a toy-pistol and Bub howled. A little brown hand had whacked him across the mouth, and the girl flashed indoors without a word. Bub got to his feet howling with pain and rage and started after her, but the old man caught him:
“Set down, boy! Sarved you right fer blabbin' things that hain't yo' business.” He shook with laughter.
Jealousy! Great heavens—Hale thought—in that child, and for him!
“I knowed she was cryin' 'bout something like that. She sets a great store by you, an' she's studied them books you sent her plum' to pieces while you was away. She ain't nothin' but a baby, but in sartain ways she's as old as her mother was when she died.” The amazing secret was out, and the little girl appeared no more until supper time, when she waited on the table, but at no time would she look at Hale or speak to him again. For a while the two men sat on the porch talking of the feud and the Gap and the coal on the old man's place, and Hale had no trouble getting an option for a year on the old man's land. Just as dusk was setting he got his horse.
“You'd better stay all night.”
“No, I'll have to get along.”