“Lor’ A’mighty, who dat?” she sputtered, as Molly came up in her ragged dress, and minus one slipper which she had dropped in her flight.
“Good-evening, auntie,” said Molly, putting on a smile like sunshine. “Don’t mind my looks, please. I fell from a tree and tore my dress, and ran from a snake and lost my slipper, and I’m so tired and hot and thirsty, please give me a drink.”
“Sartinly, chile, but did de snake bite ye? ’Cause, ef he bit you, honey, I better give you some reverend whisky to cure snake bite!”
“No, I was not bitten, auntie,” said Molly; then with a quizzical glance: “Isn’t it odd, auntie, that whisky will make men see snakes but it will cure snake bites?”
“Go ’long wid yer foolishness, chile,” said old Betsy, chuckling. She hobbled slowly to a little stone spring house near by and brought Molly a clean gourd full of cool, sparkling water. “Whut’s yer name, honey?” she continued, as Molly drank thirstily of the delicious draught.
“Will-o’-the-wisp!” said the girl, whimsically.
“Willy Whisk! Soun’s more like a boy’s den a geerl’s name. But won’t you take a cheer, honey, and tell me all about you-self?” wheedlingly.
“No, I thank you, aunt—what’s your name?”
“Aunt Betsy Bell, chile—named arter de big mountain, Betsy Bell,” said the old negress with pride.
“Well, Aunt Betsy, I’m in a great hurry. Won’t you send somebody with me to Ferndale? I’m afraid to go alone, it’s getting so dark, and that old snake is somewhere on the road waiting for me to come, I know,” with a shudder.