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Updated: July 6, 2025
Touching Mary Carmichael on the shoulder, he pointed to a white tent and the remains of a camp-fire. Already Mrs. Yellett had begun to "Hallo, Ben!" But Ben was at work at the vat, which was still a quarter of a mile further up the mountain; so Mrs.
The entire Rodney family and the suitors of Eudora assembled to witness the departure. "It’s a heap friendly of you to fret so," was the parting stab of Sarah Yellett to Sally Rodney; and she swung the backboard about, cleared the cactus stumps in the Rodney door-yard, and gained the mountain-road. "Ai-yi!" said old Sally. "What’s this country comin’ to?"
Across the horizon a dark cloud scudded, no bigger than your hand. "Cloud-burst!" announced Mrs. Yellett. "Cloud-burst, all right enough," agreed Leander, and he turned up his coat-collar in simple preparation for the deluge.
"Poor boys!" said Mary, with a manner that suggested they were miles away, rather than within a few feet of her. "Poor boys! I’ve never seen anything like it. They try so hard, too, yet they can make nothing of work that would be play for a child of three. They must have fallen on their heads harder than you supposed, Mrs. Yellett."
"Howdy, Miz Yellett," called out old Sally, hitching her rocker forward, in an excitement she could ill conceal. "You-uns’ gov’ment come, an’ she ain’t much bigger’n a lettle green gourd. Don’t seem to have drawed all the growth comin’ to her yit."
It was like penetrating into the real Inferno, like stumbling across the inspiration of Dante in all its sinister splendor. It was the Inferno of his dream rather than the Inferno of his poem; it had the ghastly reality of the unreal. "It wouldn’t surprise me if we had a smash-up in Clear Creek," said Mrs. Yellett, just by way of adding her quota of cheerful speculation.
"Yes," leered the old woman—and she grinned the whole horrid length of her empty gums—"the most of ’em does. But you must shet your eyes to it. The moment they know you swallow it, they’s wuthless, like horses that has run away once." "Hark!" said Eudora. "Ain’t that wheels?" "It be," answered her mother. "It be that old Ma’am Yellett after her gov’ment." Mrs. Yellett And Her "Gov’ment"
This apparently reasonable request was greeted by a fine chorus of titanic laughter from Mary’s pupils. Mrs. Yellett waved her hand over the surrounding landscape in comprehensive gesture. "Ain’t all this large enough for you?" she asked, gayly. "You mean the mountains? They’re wonderful. But—I really think I’d like to go in the house."
Dax knew a family named Yellett living in Lost Trail. "Never heard of no family living there, excepting the bluff at family life maintained by the wild beasts before referred to. See here, miss, I ain’t makin’ no play to inquire into your affairs, but you ain’t thinkin’ o’ visitin’ Lost Trail, be you?" "Perhaps," said Mary, faintly; and then she, too, talked "goo-goo" to the baby.
Yellett gave no sign of anxiety or discomfort; she drove along, sometimes whistling, sometimes swearing, erect as an Indian, and to all appearances as oblivious of cold and wet as if she were in her own home. The gathering darkness into which the horses were plunging was mysterious and appalling. Objects stood out enormously magnified, or distorted grotesquely, in the uncertain light.
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