The Call of the Cumberlands

Little by little, and step by step, she edged over to him, halting

often and looking about with the impulse to slip out of sight, but

always bracing herself and drawing a little nearer. Finally, he knew

that she was standing almost directly over him, and yet it was a moment

or two more before her voice, sweetly penitent, announced her arrival.

"I reckon--I reckon I've got ter ask yore pardon," she said, slowly

and with labored utterance. He looked up to see her standing with her

head drooping and her fingers nervously pulling a flower to pieces.

"I reckon I hain't a plumb fool. I knows thet Samson's got a right ter

eddication. Anyhow, I knows he wants hit."

"Education," said the man, "isn't going to change Samson, except to

make him finer than he is--and more capable."

She shook her head. "I hain't got no eddication," she answered. "Hit's

a-goin' ter make him too good fer me. I reckon hit's a-goin' ter jest

about kill me.... Ye hain't never seed these here mountings in the

winter time, when thar hain't nothin' green, an' thar hain't no birds

a-singin', an' thar hain't nothin' but rain an' snow an' fog an' misery.

They're a-goin' ter be like thet all the time fer me, atter Samson's

gone away." She choked back something like a sob before she went on.

"Yes, stranger, hit's a-goin' ter pretty nigh kill me, but--" Her lips

twisted themselves into the pathetic smile again, and her chin came

stiffly up. "But," she added, determinedly, "thet don't make no

difference, nohow."