“I didn’t say, Mister Simpkins: I am Lily Lester.”
“Some pretty name. Call me Magpie—pleased to meet yuh.”
“I might not decipher the call if yuh said Mister Harper,” says I. “Maw used to call me Honey, but Ike suits me fine.”
“Honey!” snorts Magpie. “Not comb-honey, Ike. You ain’t used—”
“Personalities are bad form, Magpie,” I reminds him. “Remember we’re before a lady. Ma’am, I’d love to drop in once in a while and see how you’re making it.”
“Do it,” says she, “I’d love to have yuh.”
“Yes’m,” says Magpie. “I will.”
She thanks us—I don’t know what for—and we rides away. We pilgrims off across the hills towards Piperock, and we takes looks at that cabin until we’re out of sight.
“Ike, Lily is a lulu,” states Magpie.
“If that’s an expression of admiration I remains torpid, but if that apellation of lulu reflects on the lady in any way I resents it a heap.”