“Of course she can't, up in the front chamber, with all the doors shut. Wouldn't have touched it if she could.”
“Well, I don't s'pose she can. Jim—”
Jim twanged a string. “What is it, mother?”
“I don't want to have you think I'm interferin', Jim. I know you're grown-up now, and I know there's things a young man might not want to tell his mother till he gets ready, but I do kind of want to know one thing, Jim.”
Jim tightened the G string. He bent his face low over his violin. “I don't know as I've ever kept much back from you, mother,” he said, soberly.
“No, I know you ain't, Jim; you've always told more to your mother than most boys. But I didn't just know but this might be something you hadn't got ready to speak about.”
“What is it you want to know, mother?”
“Jim, is that your girl?”
Jim laughed a little, although his eyes were grave; he raise the fiddle to his shoulder. “Lord, no, mother. I wouldn't get a girl without asking you.”
“I didn't know but you might have seen her over to Ware when you've been there to parties, and not said anything.”