The story of Keedon BluffsCraddock, Charles Egbert
General
The story of Keedon Bluffs
Craddock, Charles Egbert
Great Smoky Mountains (N.C. and Tenn.) -- Fiction; Mountain life -- Fiction; Tennessee -- Fiction
His attention reverted instantly to the babyish sorceress at his knee,
who with an untiring repetition and an unfailing delight in the exercises
would rise from her chair and gently touch his hand or brow crying out,
with a joyous voice full of laughter, “Kin you-uns feel my hand!” Then he
would pinch her rosy cheeks and retort in a gruff undertone, “Kin you-uns
feel my hand!”
They all behaved, Ike thought, as if they had found something choice and
of rare value. And if the truth must be known, he watched the scene
with somewhat the same sentiments which animated the old dogs. He shared
their sense of supersedure, and he noticed how they whined and could take
comfort in no spot about the hearth; how they would walk around three
times and lie down with a sigh of renunciation, to get up suddenly with
an afflicted wheeze, and hunt about for another place where the distemper
of their jealous hearts might let them find rest for their lazy bones.
They all sought to intrude themselves upon notice. One of them crept
to aunt Jemima and humbly licked her foot, only to have that stout and
decided member deal him a prompt rebuke upon the nose, eliciting a yelp
altogether out of proportion to the twinge inflicted; for the dog, since
he was not going to be petted, was glad to have some grievance to howl
about, as he might thus more potently appeal to her sympathy. The hound
that was accustomed to lead the blind man was even more insistent in
his manifestations. He went and rested his head on his master’s knee,
while the little girl sat close in her chair on the opposite side, and
he wagged his tail and looked imploringly up in the sightless face. But
Rosamondy leaned across and patted the dog on the head, and let him take
her hand between his teeth, and jovially pulled his ears, and finally
caught him by both, when they lost their balance and went over on the
hearth together in a wild scramble, about to be “scorched an’ scarified
ter death,” as aunt Jemima said snappishly when she rescued the little
girl, who was a very red rose now, and with a tender shake deposited her
once more in her chair. Then the old dog left his master, and ran and sat
by her and sought to incite more gambols.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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