The two women drew off and looked into each other's faces. Then Polly
Ann dropped her eyes.
"Have ye--?" she said, and stopped.
"No, Polly Ann, not one word sence Tom and his Pa went. What do folks
say in the settlements?"
Polly Ann turned up her nose.
"They don't know nuthin' in the settlements," she replied.
"I wrote to Tom and told him you was gone," said the older woman. "I
knowed he'd wanter hear."
And she looked meaningly at Polly Ann, who said nothing. The children
had been pulling at the girl's skirts, and suddenly she made a dash at
them. They scattered, screaming with delight, and she after them.
"Howdy, Mr. Ripley?" said the woman, smiling a little.
"Howdy, Mis' McChesney?" said the old man, shortly.
So this was the mother of Tom, of whom I had heard so much. She was, in
truth, a motherly-looking person, her fleshy face creased with strong
character.
"Who hev ye brought with ye?" she asked, glancing at me.
"A lad Polly Ann took a shine to in the settlements," said the old man.
"Polly Ann! Polly Ann!" he cried sharply, "we'll hev to be gittin'
home." And then, as though an afterthought (which it really was not), he
added, "How be ye for salt, Mis' McChesney?"
"So-so," said she.
"Wal, I reckon a little might come handy," said he. And to the girl who
stood panting beside him, "Polly, give Mis' McChesney some salt.
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