"It stands beside the weedy way;
Shingles are mossy, walls are gray;
Gnarled apple branches guard the door;
Wild vines have bound it o'er and o'er."
Then and there two more lines came to her with a rush that sent the blood throbbing to her cheeks:
"The sumac whispers, with its leaves of flame,
'Here once was done a deed without a name.'"
She leaned against the door, weak and trembling. It was as if virtue had gone out of her. She had breathed poetry! When grown-up people have such flushes and thrills we call them "poetic fire," and "the divine afflatus." The halting lines were not poetry, but the child believed that they were. That did quite as well—for her.
While she sat and exulted, the sound of a doleful whistle arose on the evening air. Shaking off the spell that bound her, she tore her way through a web of vines, sunflowers, and purple brush, jumped over the broken palings, and ran down the sloping field to the road. Dee sat upon a stone in a corner of the fence, whistling "Balerma." His hat was off, and he looked tired and out of spirits.
"Why, Dee!" cried his sister, "I thought you were at home hours ago."
"I warn't a-goin' without you, ef I stayed here till plumb night. An', Flea"—as she kissed his freckled face—"I tole Bea she might's well let 'em think at home 'twas me that was kep' in. Twouldn't be no rarity for me to be kep' in, you see. One or two times more wouldn't make no difference."
"Wouldn't that be acting a lie, Dee?" She could not scold him, but conscience urged her not to let the matter pass without notice. "And I couldn't let you be scolded instead of me. Perhaps father and mother may not ask any questions. Maybe my luck has turned."
Their hopes were not disappointed. Mrs. Grigsby was busy in the kitchen helping Chancy to make soap, and had not seen Bea return without the other children. Mr. Grigsby did not get in from the plantation until supper was on the table, and was too weary to ask questions. Flea's secret was safe for the time.
"To-morrow will be another day," she said to Bea, who "reckoned," as they were undressing that night, that Flea "had made a bad start with the new teacher." "I'm going to do my best, and, as Chancy is always saying, 'angels can't do no more.'"