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"See here, I want to go there some day and take a gentleman with me that's boarding with us. He's up in these parts drawing pictures." She did not offer to explain this statement. It was too far beyond Liff Hyatt's limitations for the attempt to be worth making. "He wants to see the brown house, and go all over it," she pursued.
"I don't know what you mean. I want to go to her." Mr. Miles was examining her thoughtfully. She fancied she saw a change in his expression, and the blood rushed to her forehead. "I just want to go to her," she repeated. He laid his hand on her arm. "My child, your mother is dying. Liff Hyatt came down to fetch me.... Get in and come with us."
Among the more reasonable he passed for a harmless creature, a sort of link between the mountain and civilized folk, who occasionally came down and did a little wood cutting for a farmer when hands were short. Besides, she knew the Mountain people would never hurt her: Liff himself had told her so once when she was a little girl, and had met him one day at the edge of lawyer Royall's pasture.
Miles had not spoken again; he seemed to understand that she wanted to be left alone. After a while the track they were following forked, and he pulled up the horse, as if uncertain of the way. Liff Hyatt craned his head around from the back, and shouted against the wind: "Left " and they turned into a stunted pine-wood and began to drive down the other side of the Mountain.
"Through our Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change our vile body that it may be like unto His glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby He is able to subdue all things unto Himself..." The last spadeful of earth fell on the vile body of Mary Hyatt, and Liff rested on his spade, his shoulder blades still heaving with the effort.
A great many things had happened to her since the day when young Lucius Harney had entered the doors of the Hatchard Memorial, but none, perhaps, so unforeseen as the fact of her suddenly finding it a convenience to be on good terms with Liff Hyatt.
Liff was still running his fingers perplexedly through his shock of straw-colored hair. "Is it a fellow from the city?" he asked. "Yes. He draws pictures of things. He's down there now drawing the Bonner house." She pointed to a chimney just visible over the dip of the pasture below the wood. "The Bonner house?" Liff echoed incredulously. "Yes. You won't understand and it don't matter.
Liff Hyatt, for a while, considered her with surprise; then he scratched his head and shifted his weight from one tattered sole to the other. "There's always the same folks in the brown house," he said with his vague grin. "They're from up your way, ain't they?" "Their name's the same as mine," he rejoined uncertainly. Charity still held him with resolute eyes.
The sun was setting, and dusk had already fallen on the lower world, but a yellow glare still lay on the lonely hillside and the crouching houses. The next moment it faded and left the landscape in dark autumn twilight. "Over there," Liff called out, stretching his long arm over Mr. Miles's shoulder.
"Don't you ever SEE anything, Liff Hyatt?" she assailed him, as he stood before her with the look of a man who has stirred up a wasp's nest. He grinned. "I seen you! That's what I come down for." "Down from where?" she questioned, stooping to gather up the petals his foot had scattered. He jerked his thumb toward the heights. "Been cutting down trees for Dan Targatt."
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