You jest follow this lane about three
miles and then keep straight along the turnpike. If you do that I reckon
you'll git yo' deserts befo' sundown." She came over to the fence and stood
fixing them with hard, bright eyes. "My! You do look used up," she admitted
after a moment. "You'd better come in an' git a glass of this milk befo'
you move on. Jest go roun' to the gate and I'll meet you at the po'ch. The
dog won't bite you if you don't touch nothin'."
"All right, go ahead and hide the spoons," called Dan, as he swung open the
gate and went up a little path bordered by prince's feathers.
The woman met them at the porch and led them into a clean kitchen, where
Dan sat down at the table and Big Abel stationed himself behind his chair.
"Drink a glass of that milk the first thing," she said, bustling heavily
about the room, and browbeating them into submissive silence, while she
mixed the biscuits and broke the eggs into a frying-pan greased with bacon
gravy. Plump, hearty, with a full double chin and cheeks like winter
apples, she moved briskly from the wooden safe to the slow fire, which she
stirred with determined gestures.
"It's time this war had stopped, anyhow," she remarked as she slapped the
eggs up into the air and back again into the pan. "An' if General Lee ever
rides along this way I mean to tell him that he ought to have one good
battle an' be done with it. Thar's no use piddlin' along like this twil
we're all worn out and thar ain't a corn-field pea left in Virginny.
Pages:
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385