"Well, ef she ain't too stuck up to notice us, her ma's too proud to let her," retorted Mrs. Rogers. "I allus said thet in spite uv Jane's meechin' ways, she felt herse'f above us. We ain't got blue blood in our veins. We ain't kin to the Temples an' Blairs an' Goodloes, and the rest uv them ristahcrats."
"Mrs. Gilcrest always treats me well when I go there," answered Susan, "and as for Betsy," she continued, her cheeks flushing and her eyes shining, "she's the truest, sweetest girl that ever lived."
"Then, why don't she come to see us lak she usetah?" demanded Mrs. Rogers.
Susan said nothing, but involuntarily glanced at Abner. Their eyes met; Susan quickly averted hers, and he thought, "I wonder if Susan knows!"
"Thah's her pap, too," Mrs. Rogers went on, "he's gittin' crusty an' stiff-lipped ez a sore-eyed b'ar."
"Hiram ain't hisse'f jes' now," interposed Mason; "he's plum crazy kaze folks ain't ready to jump on Brothah Stone an' t'ar him limb frum limb. Hiram's daft on whut he calls pure faith an' docturn, an' is allus boastin' thet his ancestry wuz burnt et the stakes, way back in them dark ages, fur ther religion."
"Religion! sich carryin'-on ain't no religion," exclaimed Mrs. Rogers. "'Tain't nothin' but stubbunness an' devilment, an' it'd be a good thing, I say, ef Hirum could be tied up an' sco'ched a bit hisse'f."
"Well, well, he's a good man et bottom," replied her husband. "We hev lived neighbors ovah twenty year, an' he's allus been ready to do us a good turn, in sickness, in health an' in trouble. As fur his wife, I wondah, Cynthy Ann, thet you kin find it in yer heart to say aught ag'in her. Hev you furgot thet wintah the twins wuz borned, an' I wuz crippled up with rheumatiz, an' the niggahs down with the measles, how she sent ole Dilsey (though Jane hed a young baby herse'f, an' could ill spar' the niggah) to wait on us? Ez fur Betsy," with a sly look at Abner, "I agree with Cissy; she's the smartest, purtiest gal in these parts, an' good an' true ez she is purty."
One Saturday afternoon in February, Betsy did come to see Susan Rogers. Mrs. Rogers had gone to spend the afternoon at a neighbor's, and Abner, who had been felling trees at his own place, did not return to the house until just as Betsy was leaving. With a timidity born of self-consciousness, Betsy grew still and embarrassed, and soon afterwards rose to go. "It gets dark so early now," she said, "and I came alone through the fields."
Abner caught up his hat while she was donning cloak and hood.