The Starbucks Part 7

said Mrs. Mayfield, "and I have not been disappointed."

The store-keeper smiled upon her, playing with the hound's ears. "Oh, we never disapp'int folks," he replied. "But we ain't peculiar. Higher up the mountains you might find folks that are right queer in their ways.

Up thar they ain't got no money at all 'cept c.o.o.n skins. Well, do you want to buy anythin'?"

"No," said Mrs. Mayfield, "not to-day."

"Got some right good snuff here if you want it."

"I don't use snuff."

"You don't? An' come round talkin' 'bout peculiar folks, too? Little one," he said to Lou, "tell yo' daddy I may drap over to see him as soon as my present rush is over. Trade is suthin' that don't wait fur no man, Mrs. Mayflower."

"Auntie, you'll have to buy something after that," said Tom. "I don't see how you can get away from it."

"Then I will show you. I wish you would tell Kintchin that we are ready to go."

CHAPTER V.

COULDN'T QUARREL IN PEACE.

When Jim and Mrs. Mayfield were near the door, just before starting for the post-office, she with graceful ceremony and he with the simple grin of devout worship, Old Jasper had stood looking at them, with an expression of mock seriousness; and when they went out, Starbuck slapped his leg and snorted with laughter. Margaret reproved him with her ever industrious eye.

"Blamed if I didn't think they was goin' to dance right thar," said the old man.

"Jasper, what makes you wanter talk thatter way?"

"Didn't see how they could keep from it, Margaret. Couldn't see no way to hold 'em back. Jest as ready to dance as the b'ar and the monkey that the feller come along the road with last year, mebbe year befo' last. I tell you, Jim ain't been a readin' them books on the hill-top fur nothin'. I gad, every time he looks at her he flips a star." He walked about the room, shaking his head. "The po' feller's. .h.i.t. I gad, when you flutter fine calico the preachers come a runnin' with the rest of 'em.

She's caught him, but he'll suffer an' say nuthin'. It's mighty hard work to wring a squeal outen a Starbuck. In that respeck we air sorter like wild hogs. I've seed a dog chaw a wild pig all to pieces an' he tuck it with never a squeal--mout have grunted a little, but he didn't squeal. Puff.e.c.kly nat'ral to grunt under sich circ.u.mstances, ain't it?"

"Oh, what do I care for yo' nonsense?"

"Nonsense! The affairs of the human fam'ly ain't nonsense, is they?

Heigho, but she's a mighty good woman."

"Of course," said Margaret, crossing the room and sitting down in a rocking-chair. "Of course. A man thinks every woman's good--but his wife."

"Had to break out, didn't you? Have I said you wan't good?"

"Might as well say it as to act it."

"How am I actin' it?"

"By not lovin' me, that's how."

"Not lovin' you. Have you got any postal-kyard or tillygram to that eff.e.c.k? I ain't sent you no sich news. Look here, did you ever notice that when a woman's daughter gits up about grown--when the young fellers begin to cut scollops about her--did you ever notice that about that time she begins to complain that her husband don't love her? Hah? Did you?"

"Oh, it's no sich of a thing," she replied, slowly rocking. "You know you don't love me as much as you did yo' fust wife."

For a time the old fellow gazed at her, saying nothing; and then came slow, deep-rumbling words: "Margaret, air you jealous o' that po' little grave down yander under the hill? You never seed her, the mother o' my two sons that went with me to pour out their blood fur their country; and when she hearn that they wan't a comin' back, she pined away and died and was buried under the tree whar we seed her standin' jest befo'

we went down beyant the hill. You ain't jealous o' that weak little woman, air you?"

Slowly rocking, and reflecting for a few moments, she replied: "Jasper, it's the weak little women that air so strong with the men."

"Yes," he declared, "and it's the weak little women that have sons that air so ready to march to the tap of the drum. But I give you and our daughter all the love thar is in this old heart o' mine, and that ought to be enough."

"But you don't appear to want to talk to me," she whimpered.

"Talkin' to you now, ain't I?"

"Yes," she admitted, "sich talk as it is."

"Well, what do you want me to do? Stand like that young feller Elliott and read stuff writ in short lines?"

Margaret flounced out of the chair. "Oh, I never seed a man that could be as big a fool when he tried. I do know that--" Here she was interrupted by the unheralded entrance of Mose Blake, the stuttering boy with the tea-cup. He nodded at Starbuck and began to stutter. "Mother sent me atter--atter a c--c--c--cup o' v--v--v--"

"How's all the folks, Mose?" Margaret broke in.

"W--w--w--w--w--"

"Glad to know it," said Starbuck. Mose looked at him with a dry grin, sat down in the rocking-chair and began to rock himself.

"What did yo' mother send you after, Mose?" Margaret inquired.

"Cup o' v--v--v--v--v--"

"Can't you write it down?" Jasper inquired.

"Kik--kik--kik--ki--kan'--can't write."

"Don't you think you mout go off somewhar an' l'arn?"

"Ain't got--got t.i.ty--t.i.ty--t----t--time."

"Wall," said Jasper, "it appears to me like you've got all the time thar is. Wall. All right, jest set thar till it comes to you and then let us know what you want." He went over to a table where his wife was standing, drew out a stool, sat down and said to her: "So, you think I can be a bigger fool when I try than--"

"Hush," she cautioned, pointing to Mose, "he's a hearin' you."

Starbuck slowly turned his head, looked at Mose and then said to his wife: "Wall, whar's the difference, he can't tell about it."

"Come atter a c--c--c--cup o' v--v--v--v--"

"Jest hold her down, Mose," Jasper encouragingly remarked, "and mebby she'll come right side up atter a while."

"Jasper," said Margaret, "don't distress him."