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ACCORDING TO THEIR LIGHTS
29
SENT DANCING ACROSS THE MOONLIT MILES TO NEW YORK
a voice in his ear. " 'Pears like yo'all's purty free with other folks' truck 'round hy ar ! ' '
Mason turned to confront an angry dryad, a small, elfish girl-creature, in a dress the color and texture of dried oak-leaves. Wild hair tangled about a face all curves and dimple pricks, out of which shone two gray eyes, wide and curious. He swept her a low bow.
" Miss Friday!"
1 'My name's Meg — I'm Nate Tracey's gal," said the mountain maid, snatching her treasured book to her flat, childish breast, ' ' The Traceys '11 l'arn any no'count stranger t' tech my things!"
Over the top of the red and blue primer, the gray eyes watched him thunderously.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Meg," said Mason, with amused humbleness. "Come — do say you forgive
me. It's too pretty a day not to be friends ! ' '
Meg's clouded glance cleared. She drifted down on the moss at his side with the fluttering motion of a falling leaf. "I 'low yo'-all knows 'most as much bookl'arnin' as Miss Grace," she said wistfully. "Yo' speaks like her does — not like we-all roun' hyar. 'Reckon yo' kin read an' write an' cipher ! Lawd, but pen-writin' an' bookl'arnin' comes right po'ly to me!" "Miss Grace? Is she your teacher ?" The name brought a softened expression to the handsome face bending above hers. Meg caught the look, and far within her an unguessed something, that had been sleeping all her short, fierce years, stirred — awoke. She put out a timid, brown little hand, touching his.
"Lawd, ain't yer skin white!" she cried shyly. "I reckon I'm goin' t' like yo'-all, stranger. "What mought be yer name?"
"Bob," answered Mason, with careless kindness. The wild little creature was really amusing — pretty, too, in her mountain way. He opened the primer to the page where a huge, yellow cat chased a small, blue mouse from morning to night. "I'm afraid I interrupted your studying," he smiled. "Suppose you read a bit to me now. I'm not much of a reader