After the first minute, Gay
found himself fascinated by this single imperfection in her otherwise
flawless features. More than her beauty he felt that it stirred his
blood and aroused in him the physical tenderness which he associated
always with some vague chivalrous impulse.
She moved slightly when he dismounted beside her, and a number of
small splotches of black circling around her resolved themselves into a
bodyguard of little negroes, clad in checked pinafores, with the scant
locks wrapped tightly with crimson cotton.
"May I let down the bars for you?" he asked, turning to look into her
face with a smile, "and do you take your collection of piccaninnies
along for protection or for amusement?"
"Grandma doesn't like me to go out alone, sir--so many dreadful things
happen," she answered gently, with an utter absence of humour. "I can't
take anybody who is at work, so I let the little darkies come. Mary Jo
is the oldest and she's only six."
"Is your home near here?"
"I live at the mill. It's a mile farther on, but there is a short cut."
"Then you are related to the miller, Mr. Revercomb--that fine looking
chap I met at the ordinary?"
"He is my uncle.
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