Polly's instinct carried true; and the Widow Griever was borne by the mere wind of her fictitious haste. Before she had stopped to consider, Roxy found herself taking the gospel quilt out of the chest where it was kept. Back in the room where she had been sitting, little Polly dived under the bed and secured her shoes, a convenient stocking thrust in the throat of each. With [130] the swiftness and deftness of a squirrel or a possum, she concealed these in her scanty skirts and stood apparently waiting when the widow returned, bundle in hand. But now Roxy Griever's slow wits had begun to stir. "What preachers is a-comin'?" she inquired sharply. "Brother Drumright, he's out preachin' on the White Oak Circuit--an' he wouldn't be thar nohow--a body knows in reason. Young Shalliday, he--What preachers did Callisty say was a-comin'?" "I never hearn rightly jest what ones," stammered Polly, making a grab for the quilt and missing it. "But thar's more'n a dozen comin'," she gulped, as she saw her aunt's face darken with incredulity. "You Polly Griever," began the widow sternly, "you know mighty well-an'-good thar ain't no twelve preachers in this whole deestrick. I'll vow, I cain't think of a single one this side of Hepzibah. I believe you're a-lyin' to me. Preachers at Lance Cleaverage's house, and him apt to break out and dance anytime! What did he say--you ain't never told me that yit--what did Lance say 'bout the dancin' anyhow?" Keen-visaged, alert Polly had possessed herself of the precious bundle, and now she hopped discreetly backward, shaking the ragged mane out of her eyes like a wild colt. [131] "W'y, Lance, he says he's a-goin' to have dancin', and a plenty of it," she announced with impish gusto--there would never be any hanging for a lamb with Polly; she was somewhat of Lance's kidney. She backed a pace or two outside the door, stepping as warily as a wildcat might, before she concluded, "An' he 'lowed to have you do the callin' off, A' Roxy! He said be shore an' come--that he was a-dependin' on you to call off for 'em to dance!" The Widow Griever made a dive for the bundle gripped in Polly's stringy little arm. But the girl, far too quick for her, backed half way to the gate. She must make a virtue of necessity. "Well, you can take that thar quilt over to Callisty," she harangued. "I won't deny it to her, and I hope it may do good. If tham men is a-goin' to git up a dance, you tell her she needn't expect to see me nor mine; but the quilt I'll send. You give it to her, and come right straight back to this house. You hear me, you Polly Griever?--straight back!" The last adjuration was shouted after Polly's thudding bare feet as they went flying once more down the short cut into the gulch. "Yes'm," came back the faint hail. "I will, A' Roxy."