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"It will not be wholly your mother's fault, if I do," said Kate. "I would suggest that if we can't speak civilly, we eat our supper in silence. This is very good food; I could enjoy it, if I had a chance." She helped herself to another soda biscuit and a second piece of fried chicken and calmly began eating them. "That's a good idy!" said Mrs. Holt. "Then why don't you practice it?" said her son.
The girl lifted the skillet from the stove, and let the flame flare up to hide her blushes. "He wouldn't be settin' 'round," she asserted indignantly, jabbing the fire with her fork. "He'd be up an' comin', you c'n bet on that." "What's Idy gettin' off now?" drawled Mrs. Starkweather from the other room. "Gettin' off her base," answered Parker jocosely.
The clammy, half-plucked fowl in her hand seemed to share her expression of irreparable injury. She allowed her daughter to climb over her without moving, and when Parker appeared she wiped one long yellow hand on her apron, and gave it to him in a nerveless grasp. "I hope you'll excuse me fer not gettin' up," she drawled; "I guess you c'n get a-past me. Idy, come an' set a rocker fer Mr. Lowe."
A bronze ibis arose from the tules at the water's edge, and flapped slowly westward, its pointed wings and hanging feet dripping with the gold of the sunset. Parker laid down his gun. "What did you want to shoot at that thing fer?" asked Idy. "They ain't fit to eat." "The wings is pretty. I thought you might like another feather in your cap."
"I wouldn't make out much at livin' by myself, Idy," he said gently. "You ain't goin' to get a chance," rejoined his daughter, rushing back to her sputtering skillet, and spearing the pieces of chicken energetically; "you ain't goin' to get red o' me, no matter how sassy you are; I'm here to stay." "Hold on now," warned Parker; "mind what you're sayin'."
He made Levin sail her up to the landin' down yer below town, whair Levin's father, Cap'n Dennis, launched the Idy fifteen year ago. I left Levin thar, and he said, 'Jack, I'm goin' off with the nigger trader to git some of his money fur mother!" "Poor miserable boy!" Phoebus exclaimed; "he's led off easy as his pore daddy. The man he's gone with, Miss Vesty, is black as hell.
I feel as if I'd been scared out o' ten years' growth." As they drove home in the chill, yellow evening, Idy turned to her lover, and asked abruptly, "Who was that felluh?" "What felluh?" "The young felluh with the sandy mustache, the one that stopped the team." Parker's manner had been evasive from the first, but at this the evasiveness became a highly concentrated unconcern.
If you should need any one in the night, you can call me. I haven't an idea but that your father will be all right, but it's a little more comfortable to have some one within call." "Well," said Idy, dropping her hands at her sides, and looking at him in admiring bewilderment, "if you ain't just Have you had anythin' to eat?" she broke off, with sudden hospitality.
'Ud you mind tellin' me what was your idy in cookin' up that squirrel story?" The hunter spoke with an effort. "I suppose I wanted to do something to make you feel small," he admitted, in a husky voice. "You wanted to make me feel small," repeated Abram, wonderingly. "Lord! Lord! Young man, did you ever hear o' a boomerang?
Half an hour later they drove into Elsmore with the radiance of their betrothal still about them, and Idy drove the team up, with a skillful avoidance of the curb, before the "Live and Let Live Meat-Market." "I'm goin' to get some round steak," she said, giving the lines to Parker, who sprang to the sidewalk, "an' then I'm goin' over to Saunders's to look at jerseys.
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