“No, I don't say that. But ever since that night at the Temple he's been round after her. He's been here, and he's been at her father's, and she can't go down to the Corners for anything but what he comes home helpin' her to bring it. You seen yourself, how he always gets her to come home from meetin'.”
“Yes,” Hughey assented forlornly. “I'm always too late at the door; he's with her before a body can git the words out.”
“Well, that's it. I don't say she ain't a good girl, one of the very best, but she's hard, hard, hard; and I don't see what's ever to break her.”
The girl's voice came from round the cabin, calling, “Honey, honey, honey!” and the little one started from her play at her mother's feet, and ran toward the voice, which Jane now brought with her at the corner, and chuckling, and jug-jugging, birdlike, for joy, threw herself at Jane's knees.
“See what I brought you, honey. It's good and ripe, but it ain't half as good as my honey, honey, honey!” She put the pawpaw into the child's hands and mumbled her, with kisses of her eyes, cheeks, hair, and neck. “Oh, I could eat you, eat you!”
She must have seen the young fellow waiting for her notice, but Nancy had to say, “Here's Hughey, Jane,” before she spoke to him.
“Oh! Hughey,” she said, not unkindly, but as if he did not matter.
He stood awkward and Nancy judged it best for all the reasons to add, “Hughey wants you to go to the Temple with him to-night,” and the young fellow smiled gratefully if not hopefully at her.
The girl stiffened herself to her full height from the child she was stooping over. She haughtily mounted the steps beside Nancy, and without other recognition of Hughey in the matter she said, “I've got company,” and disappeared into the cabin.
“Well, Hughey?” Nancy pityingly questioned.