seed corn. We have
been down to town once, and went to the movies and bought some candy,
and he wanted to buy me a new hat, but I wouldn't let him. He is so
kind....

* * * * *

She had written in a glow of happiness, trying to tell everything and
finding it hard to get it into words that would allay Cousin Lorena's
forebodings and impress her properly. Annie frowned at the paper. How
inform a bilious, middle-aged prophet of evil that she had not only
wedded prosperity and industry but also a glorious young demigod whose
tenderness and goodness passed belief?

Suddenly she heard a voice, loud, angry, incoherent. She dropped the
pen and ran out to the kitchen door.

Wes stood there, confronting Uncle Zenas--a Wes she had never dreamed
could exist. The vein on his forehead was black and swollen; indeed
his whole face was distorted with rage.

"You damned old liar--don't you tell me again you put that pitchfork
away when I found it myself in the stable behind the mare's stall.
Pretty business if she'd knocked it down and run one of the tines into
her."

"Marse Wes, you haddat pitchfo'k dere yo'se'f dis mawnin'; I ain't
nevah touch dat pitchfo'k." Unc' Zenas's voice was low and even.

Behind Wes's back Aunt Dolcey made signs to her husband for silence.

"I tell you you're a liar, and by rights I ought to cut your lying
tongue out of your head! I haven't even seen that pitchfork for three
days, and when I went to look for it just now I found it in the stable
where you'd had it cleaning out the stalls. Now shut up and get out
about your work! Don't let me hear another word out of you!"

Unc' Zenas turned away and Wes, without a word or look at the two
women, strode after him. Annie, shaken, caught Aunt Dolcey's arm.

"Oh, Aunt Dolcey," she breathed, "what on earth was the matter?"

Aunt Dolcey drew her into the kitchen.

"Nuffin' but Marse Wes flyin' int' one his bad Dean temper fits,
honey," said the old woman "No use to min' him. No use payin' any
'tention. Dat why I waggle my head at Zenas to say nuffin' back. Talk
back to Marse Wes when he's high-flyin' on'y meks things worse."

Annie beheld an abyss yawning beneath her feet.

"Yes, but, Aunt Dolcey--what's the sense in talking that way? It
wasn't anything, just a pitchfork out of place. And he went on so. And
he looked so dreadful."

Aunt Dolcey rattled her pans.

"I been dreadin' dis moment, whenas you firs' see Marse