"Come on, honey," said Aunt Sallie, taking up the bundle.
The girl--she seemed a child now--followed her. On the front
stoop were George and his brother and the preacher. The men made
room for them to pass. Sallie opened the gate; Susan went out.
"You'll have to hold the bundle," said Sallie. Susan mounted to
the seat, took the bundle on her knees. Jeb, who had the lines,
left the mare's head and got up beside his bride.
"Good day, all," he said, nodding at the men on the stoop. "Good
day, Mrs. Warham."
"Come and see us real soon," said Sallie. Her fat chin was
quivering; her tired-looking, washed-out eyes gazed mournfully
at the girl who was acting and looking as if she were walking in
her sleep.
"Good day, all," repeated Jeb, and again he made the clucking sound.
"Good-by and God bless you," said the preacher. His nostrils were
luxuriously sniffing the air which bore to them odors of cookery.
The mare set out. Susan's gaze rested immovably upon the heavy
bundle in her lap. As the road was in wretched repair, Jeb's
whole attention was upon his driving. At the gate between
barnyard and pasture he said, "You hold the lines while I get down."
Susan's fingers closed mechanically upon the strips of leather.
Jeb led the mare through the gate, closed it, resumed his seat.
This time the mare went on without exacting the clucking sound.
They were following the rocky road along the wester hillside of
the pasture hollow.
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