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Thar was a few of us detailed ter tek keer of gov'ment prop'ty near C'lumby, South Car'liny, when Wade Hamptin was a-burnin' things down thar.

The two other passengers were too frightened to notice that Rachel had on her hand-knitted, gayly striped stockings, brought years ago from “Norf Car’liny” and only worn on rare occasions; and Amity was too anxious to coax Cherub back and save himself any effort by going for him, to think of assisting Rachel to extricate herself from the broken-in dashboard.

“It’s almos’ as fine as dem ole manor houses in Norf Car’liny.

I rickon anyone like me, what’s borned and brought up on a farm in Norf Car’liny, kin help dat way, better’n an ole grumpy farmer in Noo York state,” announced Rachel.

Why talk in this way about a young girl in a calico gown, cutting holly-sprigs beside a tumble-down old cabin on the Nawth Ca'liny shore?