“I de-clar, Vashti, you drinks mo’ water than anybody I ever see.”
To which she made no answer.
“Air they a-stirrin’ over at Mis’s Stanley’s?” asked the mother.
“They ain’t a-been to bed,” said the girl, quietly; and then, as if a sudden thought had struck her, she hitched her chair nearer the door which she had left open, and sat facing it as she sewed on the brown thing she was working on a small bow which she took from her dress.
“I de-clar, I don’t see what old Mis’s Stanley is actually a-gwine to do,” broke out Mrs. Mills, suddenly, and when Vashti did not feel called on to try to enlighten her she added, “Do you?”
“Same as other folks, I s’pose,” said the girl, quietly.
“Other folks has somebody—somebody to take keer on ‘em. I’ve got your pappy now; but she ain’t got nobody but little Darby—and when he’s gone what will she do?”
For answer Vashti only hitched her chair a little nearer the door and sewed on almost in darkness. “Not that he was much account to her, ner to anybody else, except for goin’ aroun’ a-fightin’ and a-fussin’.”
“He was account to her,” flamed up the girl, suddenly; “he was account to her, to her and to everybody else. He was the fust soldier that ‘listed, and he’s account to everybody.”
The old woman had raised her head in astonishment at her daughter’s first outbreak, and was evidently about to reply sharply; but the girl’s flushed face and flashing eyes awed and silenced her.