The rocking-chair now began to recover its accustomed momentum. This
much-heralded educational expert was far from terrifying. Indeed, to Mrs.
Rodney’s hawklike gaze, that devoured every visible item of Mary’s
extremely modest travelling-dress, there was nothing so very wonderful
about "the gov’ment from the East." With a deftness compatible only with
long practice, Mrs. Rodney now put a foot on the round of an adjoining
chair and shoved it towards Mary Carmichael in hospitable pantomime, never
once relaxing her continual rocking the meantime. Mary took the chair, and
Mrs. Rodney, after freshening up the snuff-brush from a small, tin box in
her lap, put spurs to her rocking-chair, so to speak, and started off at a
brisk canter.

"I ’low it’s mighty queer you-uns don’t recognize the job you-uns kem out
yere to take, when I call it by name." From the sheltering flap of the
pink sun-bonnet she turned a pair of black eyes full of ill-concealed
suspicion. "Miz Yellett givin’ herself as many airs ’bout hirin’ a
gov’ment ’s if she wuz goin’ to Congress. Queer you don’t know whether you
be one or not!" She withdrew into the sun-bonnet, muttering to herself.
She could not be more than fifty, Mary thought, but her habit of muttering
and exhibiting her depopulated gums while she was in the act of
revivifying the snuff-brush gave her a cronish aspect.

A babel of voices came from the open-faced room on the opposite side of
the house corresponding to the one in which Mary and Mrs. Rodney were
sitting. Apparently supper was being prepared by some half-dozen young
people, each of whom thought he or she was being imposed upon by the
others. "Hand me that knife." "Git it yourself." "I’ll tell maw how you
air wolfing down the potatoes as fast as I can fry ’em." "Go on,
tattle-tale." This was the repartee, mingled with the hiss of frying meat,