I want to be married where
folks can look at me, and have something good to eat, and throw old
shoes and rice at me," came in a more constrained and connected flow,
as the poor little fugitive raised her head from her arm and reached
down to settle her skirts about her ankles, from which she had flirted
them in the kicks of one of her most violent paroxysms. Louisa Helen
was very young and just as pretty as she was young. She was rosy and
dimpled and had absurd little baby curls trailing down over her eyes,
and her tears had no more effect on her face than a summer shower.
"Why, what did your mother say to Bob?" asked Everett, thus drawn into
the position of arbitrator between two family factions.
"She told him that Jennie Rucker would be about his frying size when
he got old enough to pick a wife, and it hurt his feelings so he
didn't come to see me for a week, and he says he ain't never coming no
more. If I want him I will have to go over to Boliver and marry him
to-morrow." A sob began to rise again in the poor little bride
prospective's throat at the thought of the horrible Boliver wedding.
The autocrat shifted uneasily, and in the dusk Everett could see that
he was completely melted and ready to surrender his position if he
could only find the line of retreat.
"Well," said Everett judicially, as he looked up at Bob with a wink,
which was answered by the slightest beginning of laugh from the
insulted one, "I don't believe Bob wants to do without that bouquet
and veil and supper either.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101