oad track, an' set thar tell the ingine
shoves by. I wisht some un ud up an' tell me what makes me so restless
an' oneasy, ef it hain't 'cause I'm hongry. I thes wisht they would.
Passin' on by, I sez ter myself, s' I: 'Emma Jane Stucky,' s' I, 'ef you
know what's good fer your wholesome,' s' I, 'you'll sneak in on Miss
Haley, 'cause you'll feel better,' s' I, 'ef you don't no more'n tell
'er howdy,' s' I. Lordy, Lordy! I dunner what ud 'come er me ef I hadn't
a bin made out'n i'on."

"Emma Jane," said Mrs. Haley, in the tone of one who is humoring a
child, "these ladies are from the North."

"Yes'n," said the woman, glancing at Helen and her aunt with the
faintest expression of pity; "yes'n, I hearn tell you had comp'ny. Hit's
a mighty long ways fum this, the North, hain't it, Miss Haley--a long
ways fuder'n Tennissy? Well, the Lord knows I pity um fum the bottom of
my heart, that I do--a-bein' such a long ways fum home."

"The North is ever so much farther than Tennessee," said Helen
pleasantly, almost unconsciously assuming the tone employed by Mrs.
Haley; "but the weather is so very cold there that we have to run away
sometimes."

"You're right, honey," said Mrs. Stucky, hugging herself with her long
arms. "I wisht I could run away fum it myself. Ef I wa'n't made out'n
i'on, I dunner how I'd stan' it. Lordy! when the win' sets in from the
east, hit in-about runs me plum destracted. Hit kills lots an' lots er
folks, but they hain't made out'n i'on like me."

While Mrs. Stucky was describing the vigorous constitution that had
enabled her to survive in the face of various difficulties, and in spite
of many mishaps, Mrs. Haley was engaged in making up a little parcel of
victuals. This she handed to the woman.

"Thanky-do! thanky-do, ma'am! Me an' my son'll set down an' wallop this
up, an' say thanky-do all the time, an' atter we're done we'll wipe our
mouves, an' say thanky-do."

"I reckon you ladies'll think we're mighty queer folks down here," said
Mrs. Haley, with an air of apology, after Mrs. Stucky had retired; "but
I declare I can't find it in my heart to treat that poor creetur' out of
the way. I set and look at her sometimes, and I wish I may never budge
if I don't come mighty nigh cryin'. She ain't hardly fittin' to live,
and if she's fittin' to die, she's lots better off than the common run
of folks. But she's mighty worrysome. She pesters me lots mor'n I ever
let on."

"The poor creature!" exclaimed