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Sometimes I thought she wa'n't jest right. I used to go in to see if she'd go coltsfootin' with me, or plummin'; but she never'd make me no answer. I recollect two things she said. One day, she set rockin' back'ards an' for'ards in a straight chair, holdin' her hands round her knees, an' she says, "'I 'ain't got no pride, Sally Flint! I 'ain't got no pride!
McNeil, who lay listening and stretching her limbs in lazy comfort. "Leave her?" And then, gravely, "No; she's good to me." Lucindy's heart sank. "You could come over to see her," she pleaded, "and I'd come too. We'd all go plummin' together. I should admire to! And we'd have parties, and ask 'em all over. What say?"
But she run away, and my boys found her hidin' in the woods starved most to death. So I took her in, and the overseer said I was welcome to her. She's a nice little soul." "She's proper good-lookin'!" Lucindy's eyes were sparkling. "She don't look as well as common to-day, for the boys went off plummin' without her. She was asleep, and I didn't want to call her.
David came, and told us you was goin' to have a galy here to-day. It was so kind of providential, for 'Lisha was invited out to a day's pleasuring so I could leave jest as wal as not. The childern's ben hankerin' to come the wust kind, and go plummin' as they did last month, though I told 'em berries was gone weeks ago. I reelly thought I'd never get 'em here whole, they trained so in that bus.
Daily I met happy groups of Wallencampers, with baskets and pails in their hands, going "boxberry plummin." We had boxberry bread, boxberry stews and pies, and one day, I caught a glimpse of Grandma, in her part of the Ark, frying boxberry griddle-cakes.
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