"I'm tired."
"An' I—I am—you don't keer anything for 'Lishy, do you? Armindy, do you recollect what you said the last time we went to the singin' at Rock Creek?"
She looked at him from under her lashes, half smiled, then said:
"I don't recollect anything perticular."
"I do," he muttered softly, and stepped across the spring-run to her side. "You said—"
"Oh, don't tell me!—I don't mean anything I say!" she hastily cried.
His face clouded with jealous anger again; he laid his hand on her shoulder.
"You'll—make me do somethin' turrible, Armindy, if you don't mind. I love you; don't—don't—treat me like a dog, flingin' crumbs to me one day, an' whippin' me off the next."
She pushed away his hand, for, with all her coquetries, no man dared take any liberties with her, and stepped beyond his reach.
"I ain't done nuthin' to you, Eph'um Hurd. I—"