I hope the rheumatism in your hands is better, and that you have got somebody good in my place.  Cousin Lorena, I am a very lucky girl to fall in love with such a nice man, with a piece of property and a flivver, even if it is an old one; but better than all that he has is Wes himself, for you never saw a better, kinder man.  He is not rough and does not chew tobacco as you thought maybe he did, only smokes a pipe once in a while.  I made a sweet-potato custard yesterday, and he said it was the best he ever tasted.  He says I must not do anything that is too hard for me, but I am going to drop seed corn.  We have been down to town once, and went to the movies and bought some candy, and he wanted to buy me a new hat, but I wouldn’t let him.  He is so kind....

* * * * *

She had written in a glow of happiness, trying to tell everything and finding it hard to get it into words that would allay Cousin Lorena’s forebodings and impress her properly.  Annie frowned at the paper.  How inform a bilious, middle-aged prophet of evil that she had not only wedded prosperity and industry but also a glorious young demigod whose tenderness and goodness passed belief?

Suddenly she heard a voice, loud, angry, incoherent.  She dropped the pen and ran out to the kitchen door.

Wes stood there, confronting Uncle Zenas—­a Wes she had never dreamed could exist.  The vein on his forehead was black and swollen; indeed his whole face was distorted with rage.

“You damned old liar—­don’t you tell me again you put that pitchfork away when I found it myself in the stable behind the mare’s stall.  Pretty business if she’d knocked it down and run one of the tines into her.”

“Marse Wes, you haddat pitchfo’k dere yo’se’f dis mawnin’; I ain’t nevah touch dat pitchfo’k.”  Unc’ Zenas’s voice was low and even.

Behind Wes’s back Aunt Dolcey made signs to her husband for silence.

“I tell you you’re a liar, and by rights I ought to cut your lying tongue out of your head!  I haven’t even seen that pitchfork for three days, and when I went to look for it just now I found it in the stable where you’d had it cleaning out the stalls.  Now shut up and get out about your work!  Don’t let me hear another word out of you!”

Unc’ Zenas turned away and Wes, without a word or look at the two women, strode after him.  Annie, shaken, caught Aunt Dolcey’s arm.

“Oh, Aunt Dolcey,” she breathed, “what on earth was the matter?”

Aunt Dolcey drew her into the kitchen.

“Nuffin’ but Marse Wes flyin’ int’ one his bad Dean temper fits, honey,” said the old woman “No use to min’ him.  No use payin’ any ‘tention.  Dat why I waggle my head at Zenas to say nuffin’ back.  Talk back to Marse Wes when he’s high-flyin’ on’y meks things worse.”

Annie beheld an abyss yawning beneath her feet.

“Yes, but, Aunt Dolcey—­what’s the sense in talking that way?  It wasn’t anything, just a pitchfork out of place.  And he went on so.  And he looked so dreadful.”