"Well, I reckon," Ann said, carelessly, as she pulled at a rotten piece of twine supporting a dead vine, and broke it from its nail under the eaves of the porch—"I reckon you'd 'a' had your trip for nothing, and maybe feel as sneaking about it as I confess I do."
"Sneaking?" echoed Mrs. Waycroft.
"Yes, the truth is, I was mean enough, Mary, to hold watch on the road in that chill night air, and got nothing but a twitch of rheumatism in my leg as a reward. The truth is, Virginia Hemingway is all right. She wanted that money bad enough, but it was just on old Jane's account, and she wasn't going to be led into sech a trap as that. I reckon Langdon Chester was doing most of the talking when you saw them together. She may be flirting a little with him, as most any natural young girl would, but, just between me 'n' you—now, see that this goes no further, Mary—there is a big, big case up between Virginia and Luke King."
"You don't say! How did you drop onto that?" gasped Mrs. Waycroft.
"Well, I don't feel at liberty exactly to tell how I got onto it," Ann said, pulling at another piece of twine; "but it will get out before long. Luke has been in love with her ever since she wore short dresses."
"Huh, that is a surprise!" said Mrs. Waycroft. "Well, she is fortunate, Ann. He's a fine young man."
[XXIV]
Towards sunset that afternoon, as Ann was returning from her cotton-house, she came upon Virginia in a thicket on the roadside picking up pieces of fallen tree-branches for fire-wood. Ann had approached from the rear, and Virginia was unaware of her nearness. To the old woman's surprise, the girl's eyes were red from weeping, and there was a droop of utter despondency on her as she moved about, her apron full of sticks, her glance on the ground. Ann hesitated for a minute, and then stepped across the stunted grass and touched her on the arm.
"What's the matter now, child?" she asked.
The girl turned suddenly and flushed to the roots of her hair, but she made no response.