Old Himes
is that gal's stepdaddy. I reckon he knows whether she's fit to work in
the mills or not--he hired her here. Bob, ain't Himes down in the
basement right now settin' up new machines? You go down there and name
this business to him. See what he's got to say."
A party of young fellows was tramping down the village street singing.
One of them carried a guitar and struck, now and again, a random chord
upon its strings. The street was dark, but as the singers, stepping
rythmically, passed the open door of the store, Mandy recognized a
shape she knew.
"Shade--Shade Buckheath! Wait thar!" she called to him.
The others lingered, too, a moment, till they saw it was a girl
following; then they turned and sauntered slowly on, still singing:
"Ef I was a little bird, I'd nest in the tallest tree,
That leans over the waters of the beautiful Tennessee."
The words came back to Buckheath and Mandy in velvety bass and boyish
tenor.
"Shade--whar's Johnnie?" panted Mandy, shaking him by the arm. "I been
up to the house, and she ain't thar. Pap ain't thar, neither. I was
skeered to name my business to Laurelly; Aunt Mavity ain't no help and,
and--Shade--whar's Johnnie?" Buckheath looked down into her working,
tragic face and his mouth hardened.
"She ain't at home," he said finally. "I've been at Himes's all evening.
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