Again the girl turned from her work at the stove.
“Does it matter, Lightning?” she asked, in a voice that lacked all its usual cheer.
“Come to that, I don’t guess it does,” the man returned on the instant, feeling he had no right to any complaint that could cause her distress. “You surely must ha’ been plumb beat dancin’ around at that hoe-down, though. Then ther’ was all o’ them fine fixin’s. They’d get most any woman all worried to death with notions an’ things. Ther’ ain’t nothin’ like notions to get you so used up you can’t sleep nor nothin’. Now I was reck’nin’ to leave you sleepin’ till noon. I’d figgered to fix my eats myself, an’ hev you a real swell feed ready by noon. Then you’d get up an’ around, an’ hand me all the joy stuff your party showed you.”
Molly dished out the beans, and set a layer of fat pork beside them on the platter which was to serve Lightning. The man’s transparent kindliness was not without effect upon her. A ghost of a smile dispersed something of the woe which so distressed Lightning.
“You would figger that way,” she said kindly. “That’s you all the time. Well, this time I’ve done the figgering. I’ve figgered you need a breakfast right away. So sit around and eat, Lightning, and don’t worry that I lit your stove for you.”
The old man glanced at the heaping beans and bacon. Then he looked again into the face of the girl, who had made no attempt to help herself. He made no move to sit in at the table. He shook his head, and set himself to the task which he knew must be fulfilled without delay.
“You’re goin’ to marry him, Molly, gal?” he said abruptly.
Molly turned to the stove.
“I’m going to marry Andy—before summer’s out,” she said in a low tone.
Lightning passed a hand over his unbrushed hair.