Skirting the boggy ground by passing along a little rise where velvety mullein-stalks grew in profusion, Jeff came face to face with his wife. With a crude instinct for dramatic surprise, he stood still without speaking and allowed her to approach closer to him. Listlessly intoning her scale and cutting the half darkness with her finger, she stopped with a start. Then, recognizing him, she laughed, and advanced confidently.
“You caught me,” she said, abashed. “I was jest wonderin' if me'n you'd ever sing another note. I declare my voice is all out o' whack. Some say, losin' the teeth spoils a voice. Well, we ain't goin' out to meetin', noway, I reckon, an' so we won't be asked to sing by the old crowd. I hain't got a thing fit to put on, an' they just sha'n't poke fun at my looks.”
“I thought you hit that top-note purty clear just now,” he said, evasively. He was wondering how he could smoothly explain the thing which had so startlingly upset all his calculations, and in which she was so soon to participate.
“I couldn't git the cow an' calf,” she listlessly informed him. “The fool beasts went clean over the hill. Bob Triggs saw 'em. He said they couldn't cross the river, an' we can drive 'em up to-morrow. But you don't get no milk to-night. Say, Jeff, just for the fun of it, let's try our old brag duet. If we kept at it in the evenin' for a few days we might sorter get back into harness.”
“I don't want to sing no more, never no more,” he answered, and something in the ring of his voice riveted her attention. She suddenly laid her hand on his arm and forced him to look at her.
“Jeff, what's the matter?” she demanded, the comers of her sad mouth drooping in dire expectation. “Some'n has happened. I know it. You come to meet me to let me know. Oh, Lord, Lord! you an' Paul hain't met—”
“Yes, but no harm was done,” he said, unsteadily. “I've seed 'im. He come to the cabin just now of his own accord. He—he wasn't lookin' for trouble; in fact, he talked nice. I never was so astonished since I was born. He—well, we shook hands an' made friends. I can't tell you—I don't know exactly how to explain it, but he's changed a powerful sight.' Nothin' like he used to be—don't talk the same—more like a lawyer, or a judge, or a high-up professor. Got a straight way about 'im, an' lots o' friendly feelin', an' even pity. He's waitin' up thar at the shack for you.”
“For me? For me?”
“Yes, he wants you, an' I told 'im if he'd stay I'd come down an' hurry you up.”
The woman's scant color diminished. Her eyes caught and reflected the meager light of the stars. Her thin breast shook under suppressed agitation. Her lips moved mutely. She twisted her bony fingers together and remained silent.