Miss Lou | Page 2

not dey. I ain' sayin' dey is wrong, fer I ain' des tink dat all out'n. 'Long ez she keeps her foots on de chalk line dey mark out dey ain' projeckin' how her min' go yere en dar, zigerty-zag wid notions ob her own."
The door darkened, if the radiant girl standing on the threshold could be said to darken any door. She did not represent the ordinary Southern type, for her hair was gold in the sun and her eyes blue as the violets by the brook. They were full of mirth now as she said: "There you are, Ann' Jinkey, smoking and 'projeckin' as usual. You look like an old Voudoo woman, and if I didn't know you as my old mammy--if I should just happen in as a stranger, I'd be afraid of you."
"Voudoo ooman! How you talks, Miss Lou! I'se a member ob de Baptis' Church, en you knows it."
"Oh, I know a heap 'mo'n dat,' as you so often say. If you were only a member of the Baptist Church I wouldn't be running in to see you so often. Uncle says a member of the Baptist Church has been stealing some of his chickens."
"I knows some tings 'bout de members ob HE church," replied Ann' Jinkey, with a toss of her head.
"I reckon you do, more than they would like to see published in the county paper; but we aren't scandal-mongers, are we, Aun' Jinkey?" and the young visitor sat down in the doorway and looked across the green meadow seen through the opening in the trees. A dogwood stood in the corner of the rail fence, the pink and white of its blossoms well matching the girl's fair face and her rose-dotted calico gown, which, in its severe simplicity, revealed her rounded outlines.
Aun' Jinkey watched her curiously, for it was evident that Miss Lou's thoughts were far away. "Wat you tinkin' 'bout, Miss Lou?" she asked.
"Oh, I hardly krow myself. Come, Aun' Jinkey, be a nice old witch and tell me my fortune."
"Wat you want ter know yo' fortin fur?"
"I want to know more than I do now. Look here, Aun' Jinkey, does that run we hear singing yonder go round and round in one place and with the same current? Doesn't it go on? Uncle and aunt want me to go round and round, doing the same things and thinking the same thoughts--not my own thoughts either. Oh, I'm getting so tired of it all!"
"Lor' now, chile, I wuz des 'parin' you ter dat run in my min'," said Aun' Jinkey in an awed tone.
"No danger of uncle or aunt comparing me to the run, or anything else. They never had any children and don't know anything about young people. They have a sort of prim, old-fashioned ideal of what the girls in the Baron family should be, and I must become just such a girl--just like that stiff, queer old portrait of grandma when she was a girl. Oh, if they knew how tired of it all I am!"
"Bless yo' heart, Miss Lou, you ain' projeckin' anyting?"
"No, I'm just chafing and beating my wings like a caged bird."
"Now see yere, Miss Lou, isn't you onreason'ble? You hab a good home; mars'r en miss monstus pius, en dey bringin' you up in de nurter en 'monitions ob de Lawd." "Too much 'monition, Aun' Jinkey. Uncle and aunt's religion makes me so tired, and they make Sunday so awfully long. Their religion reminds me of the lavender and camphor in which they keep their Sunday clothes. And then the pages of the catechism they have always made me learn, and the long Psalms, too, for punishment! I don't understand religion, anyway. It seems something meant to uphold all their views, and anything contrary to their views isn't right or religious. They don't think much of you Baptists."
"We ain' sufrin' on dat 'count, chile," remarked Aun' Jinkey, dryly.
"There now, Aun' Jinkey, don't you see? Uncle owns you, yet you think for yourself and have a religion of your own. If he knew I was thinking for myself, he'd invoke the memory of all the Barons against me. I don't know very much about the former Barons, except that my father was one. According to what I am told, the girl Barons were the primmest creatures I ever heard of. Then uncle and aunt are so inconsistent, holding up as they do for my admiration Cousin Mad Whately. I don't wonder people shorten his name from Madison to Mad, for if ever there was a wild, reckless fellow, he is. Uncle wants to bring about a match, because Mad's plantation joins ours. Mad acted as if he owned me already when he was home last, and yet he knows I can't abide him. He seems