She shook hands across the counter with the storekeeper, and passed the
time of day all around.
But Hines, the new clerk, shuffled forward eagerly to wait on her. Bud was
a sallow-faced, thin-chested, gawky youth from the States, who had wandered
into these parts in search of health and employment. He was not yet used to
the somewhat drastic ways of Jim-Ned, and there was a homesick look in his
watery blue eyes; he smiled bashfully at her while he measured off calico
and weighed sugar, and he followed her out to the horse-block when she had
concluded her lengthy spell of shopping.
"You better put on a thicker coat, Bud," she said, pushing back her
sunbonnet and looking down at him from the saddle before she moved off.
"You've got a rackety cough. I reckon I'll have to make you some mullein
surrup."
"Oh, Mis' Cullum, don't trouble yourself about me," Mr. Hines cried,
gratefully, a lump rising in his throat as he watched her ride away.
The loungers in the store had strolled out on the porch. "Mis' Cullum
cert'n'y is a sister in Zion," remarked Mr. Trimble, gazing admiringly at
her retreating figure.
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