“The women” rode with Marthy a mile farther, stopping before a lonely log-house, with corn-fields climbing to meet the timber half-way up the mountain in the rear.  Marthy ushered her guests into the porch with the words, “Here ’s the fotch-on women, Maw.”

The tall, gaunt, forbidding-looking old woman sitting there turned sightless eyes toward them, putting forth a strong hand.

“Howdy, women,” she said grimly.  “Git cheers for ’em, Evy.”

They seated themselves, and Aunt Dalmanutha resumed her knitting, swiftly and fiercely, all the pent-up force of a strong nature thrown into the simple act.  Instead of the repose that characterizes the faces of the blind, her eaglelike countenance bore the marks of fretful, sullen, caged, almost savage energy.

“Go quick and take a look that ’ere pot of beans, Marthy,” she ordered.  “Evy declar’s they hain’t scorching, but my nose informs me different’.  Take the women’s bonnets, Evy, and lay ’em on my ’stead; and round up all the young uns back in the corn-crib, so ’s I can git the benefit of the talk.  Now, women,” she continued peremptorily, “I been hearing a whole passel about your doings and goings and comings these four or five year’ gone, and I ’m right smart curious to know what it ’s all about.  What air you in these parts for, anyhow, and how come you to come?”

“We are here,” began Miss Shippen, quietly, “first and foremost because we want to educate the children who have never had the chance they deserve—­”

“That ’s so; they hain’t, more shame to the State,” interrupted Aunt Dalmanutha.  “Take me, now; I were raised forty-five mile’ from a school-house or church-house, and never had no chance to l’arn ‘a’ from ‘izard.’  And these few pindling present-day district-schools scattered here and yan they only spiles the young uns for work, and hain’t no improvement on nothing.”

“Next,” proceeded the trained nurse, “we want to be friendly and helpful to the grown-up people who need it, especially to the sick and suffering.”

“I heared of the nursing you done in these parts in the typhoid last summer,” said Aunt Dalmanutha, “and certainly it sounded good.  But, women, one more question I crave to put to you.  Do you mix in religion and preachifying as you go along?”

“We do not preach at all,” replied Miss Shippen; “we let our deeds speak for us.”

Aunt Dalmanutha extended a swift hand.  “I am proud to make your acquaintance then,” she said.  “I have had my ’nough of religion and preachifying, but of plain human friendliness not, because there is little of it on the ramble.”

“My special work,” continued the trained nurse, “is of course with the sick, nursing and teaching how to nurse, and how to prevent as well as to cure illness, and sending cases I cannot help down to the level country for proper treatment.  I see, Aunt Dalmanutha, that you are blind.  Have you any objection to letting me take a close look at your eyes?”