“She seems to me very--very charming,” ventured Roden. “Well, sir, you ’ain’t got no more idea of th’ sweethearts that girl’s had--I mean would ’a’ had ’f I’d ’lowed it. The las’ one was Jim Murdoch, a hoop-pole man. But, sir”--here Mr. Herrick assumed a tone of the most pompous dignity--“but I will tole you, sir, as how my darter Faginia shall deceive _no_ retentions, _respecially_ from a hoop-pole man!” “A hoop-pole man?” said Roden. “That thar’s hit, sir, an’ I cert’n’y means what I says,” replied the overseer, relapsing again into his former slipshod easiness of speech and manner. “Consequently were, the beauty of the question air my darter Faginia won’t get married twel she gets a mighty good offer.” “I should say you were perfectly right,” assented Roden. “Well, yes, sir; I should sesso. I s’pose you ain’t married, air you?” “No. Do I look very like a married man?” said Roden, who continued to be amused. He thought the overseer almost as interesting as Virginia. “Well, no,” assented old Herrick, manipulating his abundant beard with an air of deep thought. “But the beauty of the question air, you kyarn’t al’uz tell. Them as looks the mostest married gen’ly ain’t. An’ contrarywise, them as don’t, air--” “Married?” said Roden. “Well, considerbul, mostly,” said the overseer. Here Virginia returned with a gourd of water, keeping the quick-falling drops from her father’s not too immaculate attire while he drank by means of her skilfully hollowed hands. “Yo’ breakfas’ ’s ready,” she said over her shoulder to Roden. He went in, and found it to be a slight variation on the last night’s meal. There were some corn-meal cakes--batter cakes, Virginia called them--and miraculously cooked mutton-chops. A half-hour later the overseer appeared at the window to offer his services as guide over the farm. When Roden returned from his investigations it was one of the great clock in the hall, and the sky like a vast blue banner overhead. He went out on the “front porch,” and called to Herrick as he crossed “the yard,” with the little terrier at his heels. “Is there a good view from that hill just back of the house?” he asked. “Mos’ people goes fyar crazy over it,” said Herrick. “Hit’s a right rough climb to the top. Want tuh go up? Faginia kin show you. O-o-o-o-o Faginia! Faginia!” Virginia appeared, clad from throat to heels in a vast brown apron, her half-bare arms covered with flour, and her thick braids skewered across the top of her head with a big wooden knitting-needle. “Makin’ bread?” said her father. “Well, yo’ kin get yo’ mammy to finish that. Mr. Roden here he wants to go trapeezing up to th’ top o’ Peter’s Mountain. I tole him you could show him.” “All right,” she said, briefly; “but I kyarn’t walk: the Alderney heifer stepped on my foot this mornin’. I’ll ride if you like:” this last to Roden. “By all means,” he said; “but if you do not mind, I had rather walk.” “Of co’se,” she said, and disappeared again.