At his curt and scowling negative Glen spoke quickly. “Mr. Parker came to see Glory, Luke. Will you—won’t you sit down?”
“No. I want to see you. Get your hat; we’ll walk.” His short sentences had the value of pistol shots in the quiet, charming room. “I’ll wait outside.” He went out onto the veranda, closing the door loudly after him, and Glen ran upstairs and came down again immediately, pulling on a sweater.
“Miss Ada will come for you in a few minutes, Glory,” she told the child, and to Peter Parker she said a very low “Good night!”
After the sound of the retreating footsteps had died away Gloriana-Virginia put up a small yellow claw and touched his face. “’Scuse me, suh, yo’ all better put me down! I’m right heavy. Oh—have yo’ got a mis’ry somewhar?”
He sat down in the Tenafee chair and established her upon his lap. “Yes, Glory, I’ve got a misery, somewhere, but it isn’t going to last!”
“Oh ... I’m right glad, suh....” she sagged suddenly.
“Glory! What’s the matter? Don’t you——”
“Hit’s all right, suh!” She grinned wanly at him. “Don’t yo’ go fo’ to fret. Hit’s jes’ that I’m so tired ... seems like my bones is all soft ... they won’t hold me up no mo’....”
“I expect you’d better go back to bed,” suggested her caller uneasily. “Shall I carry you up?”
“Oh, not just yet, suh—please—pretty please! Hit’s so nice and mannerly here in this sweet-pretty room.... Oh, thar’s Gran-pappy! Hyar him a’-playing his tune?” There was the shuffle of old feet on the veranda, and the faint wheeze of the accordion.