“Well, a jilt from some men saves a woman from being married with a brass ring outen a popcorn box, in my mind, and Tucker Alloway were one of them kind of men.  But talking about marrying, I’m kinder troubled in my mind about something, and I know I can depend on you not to say nothing to nobody.  Mr. Gid Newsome stopped at my gate last week and got me into a kinder hinting chavering that have been a-troubling me ever since.  Now that’s where Mr. Rucker is such a comfort to me, he’ll stay awake and worry as long as I have need of, while I wouldn’t a-dared to speak to Mr. Satterwhite after he put out the light.  But this is about what I’ve pieced outen that talk with the Senator, with Cal’s help.  That mortgage he has got on the Briars about covers it, like a double blanket on a single bed, and with the interest beginning to pile up it’s hard to keep the ends tucked in.  The time have come when Mr. Tucker can’t make it no more and something has got to be done.  But they ain’t no use to talk about moving them old folks.  I gather from a combination of what Mr. Gid looked and didn’t say that he were entirely willing to take over the place and make some sorter arrangement about them all a-staying on just the same.  That’d be mighty kind of him.”

“You don’t reckon he’d do no such take-me-or-get-out co’ting to Rose Mary, do you?” asked the soft-natured little Mrs. Poteet with alarmed sympathy in her blue eyes.

“Oh, no, he ain’t that big a fool.  Every man knows in marrying an unwilling woman he’s putting himself down to eat nothing but scraps around the kitchen door.  But I wisht Rose Mary could make up her mind to marry Mr. Newsome.  She might as well, for in the end a woman can’t tell nothing about taking a man; she just has to choose a can of a good brand and then be satisfied, for they all season and heat up about alike.  I never gave him no satisfaction about talking his praises to her, but I reckon I’m for the tie-up if Rose Mary can see it that way.”  And Mrs. Rucker glanced along the Road toward Rose Mary’s milk-house with a kindly, though calculating matchmaking in her practical eyes.

“I’m kinder for Mr. Mark,” ventured the more sentimental Mrs. Poteet with a smile.  “He’s as handsome as Rose Mary are, and wouldn’t they have pretty—­”

“Oh, shoo, I don’t hold with no marrying outen the Valley for Rose Mary!  She’s needed here and ain’t got no call to gallivant off to New York and beyont with a strange man, beauty or no beauty.  Besides she’s pretty enough herself to hand it down even to the third and fourth generation.  But I must go and see to helping Granny out on the side porch in the sun.  I never want to neglect her, for she’s the only child poor Mr. Satterwhite left me.  Now Mr. Rucker—­Why there comes Mis’ Amandy down the front walk!  Let’s you and me go to meet her and see what she wants.  We can help her across the Road if she is a-going to see anybody but us!” And with eager affection the two strong young women with their babies in their arms hurried across the street in order to serve if need be the delicate little old lady who, with her gray skirts fluttering and the little shawl streaming out behind, was coming at her tottering full speed in that direction.  In her hand she held carefully a bit of sheer, yellow, old muslin, and her bright eyes were beaming with delight as she met the two neighbors at the gate.