As for The Wren, she gazed up at the girl with wide-open brown eyes.
"You are too good to me—too good," she said simply; but there was a plaintive quiver in her voice.
Mr. James Parker sat on the porch of his home, in the foothills of the Big Smokies, gazing out over the landscape. Seemingly he was watching for something.
"He done watch de sky lak he 'spected de bottom drap clean out uv it pretty soon," said Uncle Jupe, his factotum, to his wife Mandy.
"'Gwan, you fool nigger, don' you know dat dem flying boys an' gals is to be hayr ter-day?"
"Oh, dat's jes a joke, dat is," rejoined Uncle Jupe; "how's they all goin' ter fly ah'd lak to know."
"I don' know, but dat's what Marse Parker says."
"Den he's been grocersly imposed upon by somebody. Ain't likely dat ef de Lawd had meant us ter fly he'd have give us wings, wouldn't he?"
"Go 'long, now, Don' flossyfying roun' hyar. You git out an' hoe dat cohn. Look libely, now. You git it done fo' dinner or dere'll be trouble."
Uncle Jupe shuffled out of the kitchen, but in a minute he came rushing back.