from Chapter II
At the time this story opens, the railway station, known as Sewanee, consisted of a few shops, the post-office, and one or two small houses, built about a barren square. From this a broad road led to the “University,” and the other end of Sewanee. Up this road the butcher and shoemaker had planted some locust trees in front of their shops, and beyond them the confectioner had laid a stone pavement for the length of his lot, and planted some maple trees, that, in the autumn, burned like flames of fire. Beyond the confectioner's the road was in the woods for a short space, then more houses. About a half mile from the station this road ended in another road that crossed it at right angles, and up and down this the University town was built.
Between the houses, between the public buildings, wherever any space was left free from carpenters and stone masons, the forest marched up and claimed its own, while the houses looked as if they had been convinced of their obtrusiveness, and had crept as far back as possible, leaving their fences as protection to the forest, and not as the sign of a clearing.
Very still and bare the little place looked on the gray March morning, when, under Mrs. Wilson's guidance, Hannah made her entrance as a peddler. Down the road, beaten hard by the rain, and dotted here and there with clear little pools of water, Hannah led old Bess, bearing the long bags, in the ends of which were bestowed the apples and potatoes, the bucket of butter being fastened to the saddle.
They had not stopped at the station, for Mrs. Wilson said the people in the town paid better prices.
“They don't know no better than to tuck frostbit ‘taters,” she explained, “an they'll give most anything fur butter jest now. All the ‘versity boys is come back, an’ butter's awful sca'ce. To tell the truth,” pushing her long bonnet back, “thar ain't much o’ anything to eat right now. What with layin’ an’ scratchin’ through the winter fur a livin', the hens is wore out, an’ chickens ain't in yit, an’ these ‘versity women is jest pestered to git sumpen fur the boys.”
Hannah listened in silence. She had her own ideas about trading, and besides had very scant respect for Mrs. Wilson, either mentally or morally. She knew that her things were good, but she was determined to ask only a fair price for them. It was bad to cheat people because they were simple or “in a push.” She was in a push herself, and felt sorry for them.
“An’ ax a leetle moren you ‘llows to git,” Mrs. Wilson went on, “kase they'll allers tuck some off. Thar air a few that jest pays what you says, or don't tuck none, an’ I axes them a fa'r price.” They stopped at a gate as she finished, and she directed Hannah to “hitch the nag an’ stiffen up.”
“I ain't feared,” Hannah answered, while she made old Bess fast, “but I ain't usen to peddlin', an’ I don't like hit, nuther.”
Mrs. Wilson laughed. “Youuns Granny keeps on a-settin’ you up till nothin’ ain't good enough,” she said. “Lots o’ folks as good as ary Warren hes been a peddlin’ a many a year.”
“Thet don't make hit no better fur me, Lizer Wilson, an’ nothin’ ain't agoin’ to make hit better; any moren a dog ever likes a hog-waller,” and she took down the bucket of butter with a swing that brought her face to face with her companion. One glance at Hannah's eyes, that now looked like her grandmother's, and Mrs. Wilson changed the subject.
“Leave the sacks,” she said roughly; “hit'll be time to pack ‘em in when they're sold.” She led the way in along a graveled walk, Hannah looking about her curiously, and trying to conquer her rather unreasonable anger against Mrs. Wilson, before she should meet the people about whom she had heard such varying reports.
At the front piazza Hannah paused, and Mrs. Wilson laughed exasperatingly.
“Lor, gal!” she said, “these fine folks don't ax folks like weuns in the front do'; weuns ain't nothin’ but ‘Covites come to peddle’; come to the kitchen.”
That people lived who thought themselves better than the Warrens or Durkets was a new sensation to Hannah, and she wondered if her grandmother knew it. Her astonishment stilled her wrath until the thought overwhelmed her, that perhaps these people would look on her and Lizer Wilson as the same! She had followed mechanically, and before she had reached any conclusion they were at the back door.
A negro woman stood wiping a pan, while a lady, holding an open bucket of butter, was talking scoldingly to a woman who, as Hannah saw instantly, looked very different from the lady, and very much like Lizer and herself. There was a moment's silence as the newcomers appeared; then the negress spoke.
“Mornin', Mrs. Wilson,” she said familiarly.
“Mornin', Mary,” Mrs. Wilson answered, in an oily tone; then to the lady she said: “Mornin, Mrs. Skinner.”
“Good-morning, Mrs. Wilson,” the lady answered, while the woman she had been scolding turned, and Hannah recognized a person who lived near the Durkets, and who was looked down on by them just as Lizer Wilson was by the Warrens. They did not greet each other, but Hannah felt the woman's stare of wonder, that “John Warren's gal” should peddle with Lizer Wilson! She seemed to hear the story being told to the Durkets, and repeated to her grandmother by Si. Things seemed misty for a moment, then, through the confusion, she heard Lizer's voice. “No, I ain't got nothin’ left but a few aigs; but this gal has a few things she'd like to get shed of ‘fore we starts home.”
Hannah listened, wondering, and remembered a saying of her grandmother's, that Lizer could “lie the kick outern a mule.”
“What has she?” questioned Mrs. Skinner.
“Taters, an’ apples, an’ butter,” Lizer answered; “nothin much to pack back if the price ain't a-comin'.”
“What is the price of the butter?”
“Thirty cents; I've done sold mine at thet; the taters is a dollar an’ a heff a bushel, an’ the apples a dollar.”
“I have just paid twenty cents for butter; why are your things so high?” was questioned sharply.
Ourn is extry good,” Lizer answered. The negro woman smiled. Hannah's indignation was gathering, but she did not speak. Mrs. Wilson must know the ways of the place—she would wait.
“I'll take the apples,” the lady began compromisingly, “but I will not take the butter nor the potatoes. How many apples have you?” to Hannah.
“A bushel,” Hannah answered quickly, afraid that Lizer would say a cartload.
Mrs. Skinner looked at her keenly. “I have never seen you before,” she said.
“She ain't never peddled befo', an’ ain't got no need to come now,” Lizer struck in, looking straight at the woman from the other valley. “She jest come along fur comp'ny, an’ brung a few things fur balance—she ain't pertickler ’bout sellin’.”
The first part of this speech soothed Hannah's feelings somewhat, but the final clause, representing her as coming for the love of Lizer Wilson, was worse than the peddling.