The nervous lips
were not heavy, but delicately, even archly cut, with dimples waiting
the slightest moving of the mouth; you would be sure that naturally the
laughter and fun and cheery warmth of the world lay as close to her as
to a child. But something--some loss or uncertainty in her life--had
given to her smile a quick, pitiful meaning, like that of a mother
watching her baby at her breast.
Andy climbed into the wagon, and cracked his whip impatiently.
"Time!" he shouted.
Neighbor Wart scuffed down the path, wiping her mouth.
"I'm glad I dropped in to breakfast, an' for company to friend Andrew
here. Does thee frequent the prize-fighters' ring, that thee's got their
slang so pat, lad?" as she scrambled in behind him. "Don't jerk at thy
gallowses so fiercely. It's only my way. 'Sarah has a playful way with
her': my father used to say that, an' it's kept by me. I don't feel a
day older than when--Andrew!" sharply, "did thee bring thy lunch, to eat
at my stall? The coffee'll be strong as lye this morning."
The Quaker, Jane, had a small white basket in her hand, into which she
was looking.
"It's here," she said, putting it by the young man's feet.
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