She looked at me, blushing, and said she would ask her mother.
And she did, and we walked to the schoolhouse together that
evening, her hand holding my arm, timidly, the most serious pair
that ever struggled with the problem of deportment on such an
occasion. I was oppressed with a heavy sense of responsibility in
every word I uttered.
Ann Jane Foster, known as 'Scooter Jane', for her rapid walk and
stiff carriage, met us at the corners on her way to the schoolhouse.
'Big turn out I guess,' said she. 'Jed Feary 'n' Squire Town is comin'
over from Jingleville an' all the big guns'll be there. I love t' hear
Jed Feary speak, he's so techin'.'
Ann Jane was always looking around for some event likely to
touch her feelings. She went to every funeral in Faraway and, when
sorrow was scarce in her own vicinity, journeyed far in quest of it
'Wouldn't wonder 'f the fur flew when they git t' going',' she
remarked, and then hurried on, her head erect, her body
motionless, her legs flying. Such energy as she gave to the pursuit
of mourning I have never seen equalled in any other form of
dissipation.
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