Westerfelt | Page 2

jest
looked at that woman an' my mouth fairly watered."
"Yo're a born fool," snorted Mrs. Slogan.
"What's that got to do with John Wester--"
"Sh--" broke in Mrs. Dawson. "I heer Sally a-comin'."
"But I want 'er to heer me," cried the woman appealed to, just as the
subject of the conversation entered the room from the passage which
connected the two parts of the house. "It'll do 'er good, I hope, to know
folks think she has made sech a goose of 'erse'f."
"What have I done now, Aunt Clarissa?" sighed the frail-looking girl,
as she took off her sun-bonnet and stood in the centre of the room,
holding a bunch of wild flowers and delicate maiden-hair fern leaves in
her hand.
"Why, John Westerfelt has done you exactly as he has many a other
gal," was the bolt the woman hurled. "He's settin' up to Lizzie Lithicum
like a house afire. I don't know but I'm glad of it, too, fer I've told you
time an' time agin that he didn't care a hill o' beans fer no gal, but was
out o' sight out o' mind with one as soon as another un struck his
fancy."
Sally became deathly pale as she turned to the bed in one of the corners
of the room and laid her flowers down. She was silent for several
minutes. All the others were watching her. Even her mother seemed to
have resigned her to the rude method of awakening which suited her
sister's heartless mood. At first it looked as if Sally were going to
ignore the thrust, but they soon discovered their mistake, for she

suddenly turned upon them with a look on her rigid face they had never
seen there before. It was as if youth had gone from it, leaving only its
ashes.
"I don't believe one word of it," she said, firmly. "I don't believe it. I
wouldn't believe it was anything but your mean meddling if you swore
it."
"Did you ever!" gasped Mrs. Slogan; "after all the advice I've give the
foolish girl!"
"Well, I reckon that's beca'se you don't want to believe it, Sally," said
Slogan, without any intention of abetting his wife. "I don't want to take
sides in yore disputes, but Westerfelt certainly is settin' square up to
Ab's daughter. I seed 'em takin' a ride in his new hug-me-tight buggy
yesterday. She's been off to Cartersville, you know, an' has come back
with dead loads o' finery. They say she's l'arned to play 'Dixie' on a
pyanner an' reads a new novel every week. Ab's awfully tickled about it.
Down at the store t'other day, when Westerfelt rid by on his prancin'
hoss, Clem Dill said: 'Ab, I reckon it won't be long 'fore you move over
on yore son-in-law's big farm,' an' Ab laughed so hard he let the
tobacco juice run down on his shirt.
"'Liz 'll manage his case,' sez he. 'Westerfelt may fly around the whole
caboodle of 'em, but when Liz gits 'er head set she cuts a wide swathe
an' never strikes a snag ur stump, an' cleans out the fence-corners as
smooth as a parlor floor.'"
Sally bent down over her uncle; her face was slowly hardening into
conviction. When she spoke her voice had lost its ring of defiance and
got its strength of utterance only from sheer despair.
"You saw them in his new buggy, Uncle Peter," she asked, "taking a
ride--are you sure?"
Peter Slogan dropped his eyes; he seemed to realize the force of the
blow he had helped to deal, and made no answer.

Mrs. Slogan laughed out triumphantly as she stooped to put her
smoothing-iron down on the hearth.
"Ride together!" she exclaimed. "As ef that was all! Why, he's been
goin' thar twice an' three times a week regular. Jest as he begun taperin'
off with you he tapered on with her. I don't reckon you hardly
remember when he come heer last, do you? Ab Lithicum's as big a fool
as yore mother was in not callin' a halt. Jest let a man have a little
property, an' be a peg or two higher as to family connections, an' he kin
ride dry-shod over a whole community. He's goin' thar to-night. Mis'
Simpkins was at Lithicum's when a nigger fetched the note. Lizzie was
axin' 'er what to put on. She's got a sight o' duds. They say it's jest old
dresses that her cousins in town got tired o' wearin', but they are ahead
o' anything in the finery line out heer."
A look of wretched conviction stamped itself on the girl's delicate
features. Slowly she turned to pick up her flowers, and went with them
to the mantel-piece. There was an empty vase half filled