“Wha––what you mean––yo’ Pluto? What fo’ you hide theah an’ listen?”
“I wan’t hiden’,” replied the man, good naturedly. “I jest lay to go sleep in the shade. Yo’ come ’long an’ talk––talk 168 so I couldn’t help hear it all,” and he smiled shrewdly. “I alles was curious to know the true way ’bout that Marg’ret––I reckon there was a heap that wan’t told to neighbors. An’ reason why I ask you how much he give you fo’ the story is ’cause I got that picture you tole ’bout. I married Mahs Larue’s Rosa what come from Georgy with them. She been daid ovah a yeah now, but it’s some whar ’mongst her b’longings. Reckon that strange gentleman give me dollar for it?––the frame is mighty pretty––what you think?”
CHAPTER XV.
“Do tell me every blessed thing about her––a real Marquise––I love titles;” and Evilena clasped her hands rapturously.
“Do you, now? Faith, then I’m glad I secured mine before I came over,” and the laughing Irish eyes met hers quizzically.
“Oh, I never meant titles people earn themselves, Mr. Doctor, for––”
“Then that puts the Judge and Col. Kenneth and myself on the outside of your fence, does it? Arrah now! I’ll be looking up my pedigree in hopes of unearthing a king––every true Irishman has a traditional chance of being the descendant of rulers who ran barefoot, and carried a club to teach the court etiquette.”
She made a mutinous little grimace and refused to discuss his probable ancestors.