As the stranger came in view from behind the pine-pole pig-pen, the old man uttered a grunt of surprise that brought to the door two young women in homespun dresses, and a tall, lank young man in his shirt-sleeves.
“I suppose you don’t remember me,” said Laramore, and he put his satchel on a wash-bench by a tub and a piggin of lye soap.
“Well, I reckon nobody in this shack is gwine to ’spute with you,” rumbled the old man, as with his chin in his hand, he lazily looked at the face before him.
“I might not have known you either if I had not been told that you lived here. I am the fellow you used to call Luke King.”
“By Jacks!” After that ejaculation the old man and the others stared speechlessly.
“Yes, that’s who I am,” continued Laramore. “How do you do, Jake?” (to the lank young man in the door). “We might as well shake hands. You girls have grown into women since I left. I’ve stayed away a long time, and been nearly all over the world, but I’ve always wanted to get back. Where is mother?”
Neither of the girls could summon up the courage to answer, and they seemed under stress of great embarrassment.
“She is porely,” said the old man, inhospitably keeping his seat. “She’s had a hurtin’ in ’er side from usin’ that thar battlin’-stick too much on dirty clothes, an’ her cold has settled on ’er chest. Mary, go tell yore maw Luke’s got back. Huh, we all ‘lowed you wuz dead ‘cept her. She al’ays contended you wuz alive som ‘ers. How’s times been a-servin’ uv you?”
“Pretty well.” Laramore put his satchel on the ground and sat down wearily on the bench by the tub.
“Things is awful slow heer. Whar have you been hangin’ out?”