“Well, I’ll show ye the very place right soon. Hit’s jest beyant the two rocks that leans together, whar Davy says some time he’s a-goin’ to start another school. Hain’t he nuvver tolt ye about that neither? Seems to me ye an’ him hain’t talked much noways. “Well, now, them two wimmern is jest pore wild folks, ye mought say. This cave is the onliest home they’ve had fer years. The young woman is named Min, an’ her little gal is named Min, too. She hain’t got no pap, but she’s purty as a pictur, that little gal.” “The poor child!” said Marcia Haddon. “Granny, I almost wish I hadn’t heard so much.” “Well, Ma’am, suppose ye was throwed down in these mountings, with nothin’ to do with—what do ye reckon ye’d do? About the best ye could, huh? I reckon that’s what all of us folks has had to do—yes, it’s jest what all of us folks has had to do. It’s what everybody has got to do, come to that. “Say, child, was ye ever merried more’n onct?” Granny demanded suddenly. “I reckon ye was young when ye was merried—ye hain’t larned much yit.” “Yes, I was young,” said Marcia Haddon. “And once—only once.” “Uh huh! Man jest come along an’ got foolish over yore purty face, like enough, an’ talked fine to ye, an’ so ye was merried! It goes that way. Well, I reckon in a year or two ye’ll like enough merry again. Ye’re gittin’ purtier every day. Some folks merries in lessen a year, but hit hain’t ordinary helt decent to be in too big a hurry.” She went on, ruminatingly. “Me an’ my old man has lived together a long while—I nuvver was merried more’n only onct, neither. He’s so damn tough nothin’ couldn’t kill him, ‘pears like. He got a tree fall on him, while ago, when he was turned fifty, an’ he hain’t been much of a fightin’ man sence then, but still he’s lived along sever’l year sence then, too. “Well, now, what I was a-goin’ to say was, Ma’am, supposin’ if he’d of died when I was, say, young as ye air. Do ye suppose I’d of stayed single all of my life? I don’t say if I would or I wouldn’t, but I’ve knowed wimmern to merry four or five times, like enough—I mought of merried sever’l times, come need fer’t. But thank God I didn’t haveter. “Didn’t ye never have no sweethearts afore ye was merried, Ma’am?” she went on in her own fashion, her inquisitiveness now growing under the reticence of the other. “Don’t all girls?” said Marcia Haddon soberly. “Most has,” said the old dame, “mostly, yes. All, ye mought say, that’s as purty as ye was. An’ as I was sayin’, ye’re a-gittin’ purtier right along. Ye’ll be a right peart-lookin’ widder afore long. Well, like I was sayin’, ye mought of merried ary one of ‘em if ye hadn’t of merried the man ye did.” “It never came up for discussion in my mind, Granny,” said Marcia Haddon with dignity.