"What's that little blue flower?" he asked, pointing to a starry bloom, daisy-shaped, blossoming on a weed-like stem.
"That's another of the beauties for which we thank Jefferson, that and the Scotch broom in the woods; you saw it?"
"But where does this come from?"
"Don't ask me! Scotland, also, perhaps; here we are!" She pulled up sharply before a cabin by the road, and, before he could take the reins she threw down, sprang out.
Lawson sat feeling like a chagrined schoolboy. It was one of the small accomplishments of which he was proud, to lift a woman from carriage or saddle. He had strong muscles well trained, and he had a fashion of putting his hands at the woman's waist and giving her a lift, quick, light, and sure, and setting her on her feet with a look of pleased astonishment in her eyes; now he sat holding the reins like any good boy and watching the flutter of a blue skirt around the clusters of zinnias and marigolds by the cabin corner. And then he heard voices and laughter and the squawks of terrified chickens.
Frances was coming back,—a colored woman, with a bunch of chickens in either hand, walking by her side. He listened to the woman with intense amusement.
"Why don't you say thanky?" she was demanding.
Frances only laughed.
"I done tole yuh how pretty yuh is; now why don't yuh say thanky?"