Mountain people -- North Carolina -- Fiction; North Carolina -- Fiction
At the end of the passage, facing the ravine, I stood and talked to
Guinea, while Alf was hitching the mare to the buck-board. The sun was
well over to the west, pouring upon us, and in the strong light I noted
the clear, health-hue of her complexion. A guinea chicken, swift and
graceful, ran round the corner of the house, and, nodding toward the
fowl, I said: "I am talking to her namesake and she is jealous."
I thought that the shadow of a pout crossed her lips, but she smiled and
replied: "If my real name were not so ugly I'd insist upon people
calling me by it. I hate nicknames."
"But sometimes they are appropriate," I rejoined.
"But when they are," she said, laughing, "they never stick. It's the
disagreeable nickname that remains with us."
"Is that the philosophy you learned at Raleigh?" I asked.
She shrugged her shapely shoulders, laughed low in her throat and
answered: "I haven't learned philosophy at all. It doesn't take much of
a stock of learning for a girl who lives away out here."
"But she might strive to learn in order to be fitted for a better life,
believing that it will surely come."
"How encouraging you are, Mr. Hawes. After a while you may persuade me
that I am really glad that you came."
"You have already made me glad," I replied.
"Have I? Then mind that I don't make you sorry. Alf's waiting for you."
As we drove toward Perdue's I wondered what could have caused old man
Jucklin's change of manner at the time he had spoken of sending his
daughter away to be educated. Surely, he could not deplore the grace and
refinement which this schooling had given her. Would it be well to ask
Alf? No; he could but regard such a question as a direct impertinence.
The mare trotted briskly and the rush of cool air was delicious. The
road was crooked, holding in its elbows bits of scenery unsuspected
until we were upon them, moss growing under great rocks, weeping in
eternal shade, a bit of water blazing in the sun, a hickory bottom,
where squirrels were barking; and from everywhere came the thrilling
incense of spring.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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