"Well, now," replied Peters, "that ain't very polite." She stepped back and looked at him in pretended astonishment. "Was anybody ever polite to you?" "Well, not many of the Starbucks, that's a fact--none, come to think of it 'cept yo' cousin Jim, the preacher, and he believes that the Lord made all things for a purpose." "Yes, he believes that God made the devil." Peters laughed as if he really enjoyed her contempt of him. He pulled at his whiskers, cleared his throat, took a turn about the room and looking at her again, he appeared as if he had attempted to soften his countenance with a sentiment urgently summoned. "Yes, that is all true, I reckon. And now let me tell you. I mout not look like it--like I'm hard to please, but I am. Thar ain't one woman out of a hundred that can make me wake up when I'm sleepy and think about her, but you can. And ever sense you was a child I've said I'd never marry till I could git you." He saw the anger in her eyes and hesitated. "Ah, you may not think very much of me now," he continued, "but that can all be changed. A woman's like a mornin' glory flower--always a changing; an' I know you could learn to love me." "Oh, you do. Well, what you know and what's the truth won't never know each other well enough to shake hands." Peters smiled upon her, "Wall, if nuthin' else did, that of itself would prove you air old Jasper's daughter." Margaret Starbuck came in, with a pan of turnips. Peters bowed to her. "Er good mornin', ma'm." She put the pan on the table and giving him an unconscious grace bade him good morning. "Is mammy done ironin'?" she asked, speaking to Lou. "Yes'm, I reckon so." Then she added, speaking to Peters, "Is there anythin' else you wanted?" "Why, Lou," Margaret spoke up, "is that the way to talk?" "Yes'm, sometimes," and nodding at Peters she added: "And this is one of them." She laughed, turned away and sat down with her elbows resting on a battered old melodeon. "Oh, she's jest a jokin' with me ma'm," said Peters. "I wanted to see yo' husband. Reckon he's out some whar on the place." "I think so," Margaret replied, peeling the turnips. "I heard him calling the hogs just now." Lou looked at Peters and said: "Then why don't you go?" "Why, daughter," exclaimed Margaret, "you musn't talk that way. Mr. Peters is in yo' house." She came forward and to the visitor bowed with mock humility. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Peters--" "Oh, that's all right, Miss Lou." "For bein' honest with you." Peters cleared his throat. She returned to the melodeon and sat down with her back toward him. Peters started out but halted and spoke to Margaret. "Suthin' I have been workin' fur a long time is about to come--an app'intment I've been tryin' to git, and when I git it there air folks that ought to be skeered." Lou glanced round at him and replied, "And then again, there are folks that won't be."