“Mought be ter the britches, but not ter the health,” Editha rejoined. Then she burst out laughing at her jest, and it brought to her mind a new phase of her triumphs. “’Roy Tresmon’ he said I war the wittiest lady he ever seen. He meant plumb jokified,” she explained tolerantly. “An’ sure’ I did keep him on the grin. He ’lowed it war wuth twice the price of his entertainment ter escort me ter the pictur’-show an’ theater-supper arterward; fer when the show war over, me an’ him an’ Sophy an’ Jarney went ter an eatin’-store, whar they hed a whole passel o’ leetle tables set out in the floor an’ the biggest lookin’-glass I ever see on the wall. But, lawsy! Benjie, be ye a-goin’ ter let that old mare stand slobberin’ in the river plumb till sunset? Git up, Whitey!” As the wagon went jolting up the steep bank, Editha resumed: “But I tell ye now, Benjie, ’Roy Tresmon’ didn’t do all the fine dressin’. I cut a dash myself. Sophy begged me ter wear a dress of hern ter the pictur’-show an’ the theater-supper, ez they called it, arterward, which I war crazy ter do all the time, though I kep’ on sayin’ ter her, ‘What differ do it make what a’ old mounting woman wears?’ But I let myself be persuaded into a white muslin frock with black spots, an’, Benjie, with the lace cape an’ the jet necklace, an’ the fancy jet comb in my hair, I made that man’s eyes shine ekal ter them gold buttons in his shirt-front. Lem me show ye how Sophy did up my hair. I scarcely dared turn my head on the pillow las’ night fer fear of gittin’ it outen fix, an’ I never teched comb nor bresh ter it this mornin’ so ez ye mought hev some idee how it looked.” With the word she removed her sunbonnet with gingerly care and sat smiling at him, expectant of plaudits. In fact, the snow-white redundancy of her locks, piled into crafty puffs and coiled in heavy curls by the designing and ambitious Sophy, a close student of the fashion items as revealed in the patent inside of the county paper, achieved a coiffure that might have won even discriminating encomiums. But Benjie looked at her dully and drearily as she sat, all rejuvenated by the artifices of the mode, roseate and bland and suavely smiling. A sudden shadow crossed her face. “Why, Benjie,” she cried anxiously, “what kin ail you-’uns? Ye look plumb desolated.” “Oh, you g’ long, g’ long!” cried the goaded Benjie. Luckily she imagined the adjuration addressed to the old mare, now beginning the long, steep ascent of the mountain to their home on the bluff, and thus took no exceptions to the discourtesy.