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Updated: July 26, 2025
Lescott laughed. "Most rules of social usage," he explained, "go back to the test of efficiency. It is considered good form to eat with the fork, principally because it is more efficient," The boy nodded. "All right," he acquiesced. "You l'arn me all them things, an' I'll be obleeged ter ye. Things is diff'rent in diff'rent places. I reckon the Souths hes a right ter behave es good es anybody."
But for the scene of a few minutes ago, it would have been an unnecessary question. There was a clamorous assent, and the boy turned to Lescott. "I wants ye ter take Sally home with ye. Ye'd better start right away, afore she heers any of this talk. Hit would fret her. Tell her I've had ter go 'cross ther country a piece, ter see a sick man.
If the explanation failed to satisfy him, it at least seemed to do so. "I reckon ye'd better let me holp ye up on thet old mule," he said; "hit's a-comin' on ter be night." With the mountaineer's aid, Lescott clambered astride the mount, then he turned dubiously. "I'm sorry to trouble you," he ventured, "but I have a paint box and some materials up there.
Sally turned from the crowded wall, and began looking about for Samson. He was not there. Lescott had seen him leave the house a few moments before, and started over to intercept the girl, as she came out to the porch. In the group about the door, he passed a youth with tow-white hair and very pink cheeks.
I jest lives over yon." "But," insisted the man, "surely you have a name." She nodded. "Hit's Sally." "Then, Miss Sally, I want to thank you." Once more she nodded, and, for the first time, let her eyes drop, while she sat nursing her knees. Finally, she glanced up, and asked with plucked-up courage: "Stranger, what mout yore name be?" "Lescott George Lescott." "How'd ye git hurt?"
Tamarack seemed willing to feed that idea, and admitted apart to Lescott that, while he obeyed the dictates of the truce, he found them galling, and was straining at his leash. "I don't take nothin' offen nobody," he sullenly confided. "The Hollmans gives me my half the road."
Several soberer men closed around the boy, and, after disarming him, led him away grumbling and muttering, while Wile McCager made apologies to the guest. "Jimmy's jest a peevish child," he explained. "A drop or two of licker makes him skittish. I hopes ye'll look over hit." Jimmy's outbreak was interesting to Lescott chiefly as an indication of what might follow.
Lescott opened her house on Long Island early, and the life there was full of the sort of gaiety that comes to pleasant places when young men in flannels and girls in soft summery gowns and tanned cheeks are playing wholesomely, and singing tunefully, and making love not too seriously. Samson, tremendously busy these days in a new studio of his own, had run over for a week.
The boy was reaching under his coat with hands that had become clumsy and unresponsive. "Let me git at him," he shouted, with a wild whoop and a dash toward the painter. Lescott said nothing, but Sally had heard, and stepped swiftly between. "You've got ter git past me fust, Buddy," she said, quietly. "I reckon ye'd better run on home, an' git yore mammy ter put ye ter bed."
It was Samson as he was whom she adored. Any alteration was to be distrusted. Still, Lescott set out one afternoon on his doubtful mission. He was more versed in mountain ways than he had been. His own ears could now distinguish between the bell that hung at the neck of Sally's brindle heifer and those of old Spicer's cows.
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