Mountain life -- Tennessee -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
The attorney-general went on, hoping to find a discrepancy in her
testimony, yet hardly knowing how he had best approach it. The court-room
had relapsed into absolute silence. One could hear in the pauses the
slight movement of the branches of the trees without as the light wind
stirred. They were distinctly visible beside the windows, for the night
was fair. All the long upper sashes gave upon a sky of a fine, pure
azure, seeming more delicate for the dull yellow lamplight flooding
the room. The moon with an escort of clouds was riding splendidly up
toward the meridian; now and then they closed jealously about her, and
again through their parting ranks she looked out radiantly and royally
on her realms below. The frost touched the panes here and there with a
crystalline sparkle. The attorney-general fixed his eyes upon the moon as
he pondered; then, his fingers drumming lightly upon the table, he asked,
“It was at the little school-house on the road to Bethel camp-ground?”
“Yes, sir,” said Alethea.
“Were you ever there before?”
“A many a time,” said Alethea. “The folkses in Eskaqua Cove goes thar ter
preachin’.”
He glanced again absently at the moon, his fingers still drumming on the
table.
“It’s a church-house, then,” he said, adopting the vernacular, “as well
as a school-house?”
“Yes, sir,” assented the witness.
“Well, is this fence by which you were standing the fence around the
play-yard?”
“Naw, sir,” said Alethea, amazed at the idea of this civilized provision
for youthful sports. “The palin’s air round three sides o’ the house,
leavin’ out the side whar the door be, ter pertect the graves.”
The drumming fingers of the attorney-general were suddenly still. “It
is a graveyard, then?” he said, in a sepulchral undertone, overmastered
himself by the surprise.
“Yes, sir. Folks air buried thar. It’s a graveyard.”
There was a pause.
“There’s no place more appropriate for a boy in poor Tad’s predicament to
be!” cried the lawyer. “Look here,” squaring himself before the table and
placing his elbows upon it, “do you believe in ghosts?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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