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Cooke, Grace MacGowan, 1863-1944

"The Power and the Glory"

But when
she--when he--oh, I wish't you and Unc' Pros had been home to-day."
Johnnie, her mind at rest about the children, turned to her mother.
"Was ma sick?" she asked sympathetically. Then, noticing for the first
time the unwonted gaiety of Laurella's costume, the glowing cheeks and
bright eyes, she smiled in relief.
"You don't look sick. My, but you're fine! You're as spick and span as a
bride."
The old man bent and spat over the wheel, preparatory to speaking, but
his daughter took the words from his mouth.
"She is a bride," explained Mavity Bence in a flatted, toneless voice.
"Leastways, Pap said he was a-goin' up on Unaka for to wed her and bring
her down--and I know in reason she'd have him."
Johnnie's terror-stricken eyes searched her mother's irresponsible,
gypsy face.
"Now, Johnnie," fretted the little woman, "how long air you goin' to
keep us standin' here in the road? Don't you think my frock's pretty? Do
they make em that way down here in the big town? I bought this lawn at
Bledsoe, with the very first money you sent up. Ain't you a bit glad
to see us?"
The lip trembled, the tragic dark brows lifted in their familiar slant.
"Come on in the house," said Johnnie heavily, and she led the way with
drooping head.
Called by the unusual disturbance, Mandy left the supper she was putting
on the table for Johnnie and ran into the front hall.


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