"Ye may have 'em for nought; I've got plenty, see. They're fine ones,
ar'n't they?"

"I'd sooner pay you for them. You want the money perhaps."

"Well, then," said Sally, and thrust out her brown palm.

"Sally," said John, seriously, "I've been thinking a deal about you. I
think it is somethin' dreadful the way you are livin'--you so comely
an' all. It's an awful thing to think you don't know anythin' and
never go to church or that. Do you never say your prayers?"

Sally looked at him, and twisted open a cockle before replying.

"Nay, I dunnot. Aunt Nancy doesn't neither."

"Do you know who made you, Sally?"

"I larned at school, the on'y time I went, but I forget now."

"Well, Sally, I've been thinkin'--somebody ought to teach you. I could
teach you myself of an evening if you'd come yonder to the big
sandhill."

Sally looked reflective, but presently nodded.

"I will while I'm here," she said; "but we's be shiftin' afore aught's
along--we're allus shiftin'. We have to be terrible careful not to get
cotched for sleeping out. They're that sharp wi' us they won't let a
body do naught, so we dursen't stay too long i' one place. But I'll