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  Matt lit a cigarette in an attempt to break the mood. He glanced at her face by the light of the match. "What is courting like here in the hills?" he asked.

  "Sometimes we walk," Abbie said dreamily, "and look at things together, and talk a little. Sometimes there's a dance at the school house. If a fellow has a boat, you can go out on the lake. There's huskin' bees an' church socials an' picnics. But mostly when the moon is a-shinin' an' the night is warm, we just sit on a porch an' hold hands and do whatever the girl's willin' to allow."

  Matt reached out and took one of her hands and held it in his. It was cool and dry and strong. It clung to his hand.

  She turned her face to him, her eyes searching for his face in the darkness. "Do you like me a little bit, Mr. Wright?" she asked softly. "Not marryin'-like, but friendly-like?"

  "I think that you're the most feminine girl I've ever met," he said, and realized it was true.

  Almost without volition on either part, they seemed to lean together, blending in the night. Matt's lips sought her pale little-girl lips and found them, and they weren't pale or little-girlish at all, but warm and soft and passionate. He broke away, breathing quickly.

  Abbie half turned to nestle against his shoulder, his arm held tightly around her. She sighed contentedly. "I reckon I wouldn't be unwillin'," she said tremulously, "whatever you wanted to do."

  "I can't understand why you didn't get married long ago," he said.

  "I guess it was me," Abbie said reflectively. "I wasn't rightly satisfied with any of my fellows. I'd get mad at them for no reason at all, and then something bad would happen to them and pretty soon no one would come courtin'. Maybe I expected them to be what they weren't. I guess I wasn't really in love with any of them. Anyways, I'm glad I didn't get married up." She sighed.

  Matt felt the stirrings of something that felt oddly like compunction. 'What a louse you are, Matthew Wright!'

  "What happened to them -- your fellows?" he asked. "Was it something you did?"

  "Folks said it was," Abbie said. There was a trace of bitterness in her voice. "They said I had the evil eye. I don't see how. There isn't anything wrong with my eyes, is there?" She looked up at him; her eyes were large and dark blue, with little flecks of silvery moonlight in them.

  "Not a thing," Matt said. "They're very beautiful."

  "I don't see how it could have been any of my fault," Abbie said. "Of course, when Hank was late that evening, I told him he was so slow he might as well have a broken leg. Right after that he was nailing shingles on a roof, and he fell off and broke his leg. But I reckon he'd have broke it anyways. He was always right careless.

  "And then Gene, he was so cold I told him he should fall in the lake and warm up. But a person who does a lot of fishin', I guess he falls in a lot anyways."

  "I guess so," Matt said. He began to shiver.

  "You're shivering, Mr. Wright," Abbie said solicitously. "Let me go get your jacket."

  "Never mind," Matt said. "It's about time for bed anyway. You go in and get ready. Tomorrow -- tomorrow we're going to drive to Springfield for some shopping."

  "Really, Mr. Wright? I haven't never been to Springfield," Abbie said incredulously. She got up, her eyes shining. "Really?"

  "Really," Matt said. "Go on in, now."

  She went in. She was almost dancing.

  Matt sat on the porch for a few minutes longer, thinking. It was funny what happened to the fellows that disappointed Abbie. When he lit a cigarette, his hand was shaking.

  Abbie had a way of being many different persons. Already Matt had known four of them: the moody little girl with braids down her back shuffling along a dusty road or bouncing gleefully on a car seat; the happy, placid housewife with cheeks rosy from the stove; the unhappy vessel of strange powers, tearful and reluctant; the girl with the passionate lips in the moon-streaked darkness. Which one was Abbie, the true Abbie?

  The next morning Matt had a fifth Abbie to consider. Her face was scrubbed and shining until it almost rivaled her eyes. Her braided hair was wound in a coronet around her head. She was wearing a different dress made of a shiny blue quilted material with a red lining. Matt scanned his small knowledge of dress materials. Taffeta? The color did terrible things to her hair. The dress had a V-shape neck and back and fitted better than anything she had worn yet. On one hip was a large artificial rose. Her stockingless feet were enclosed in a pair of black, patent-leather sandals.

  'My God!' Matt thought. 'Her Sunday best! I'll have to walk with that down the streets of Springfield.' He shuddered, and resisted the impulse to tear off that horrible rose.

  "Well," he said, "all ready?"

  Abbie blushed excitedly. "Are we really going to Springfield, Mr. Wright?"

  "We are if the car will start."

  "Oh, it'll start," Abbie said confidently.

  Matt gave her a thoughtful sidelong glance. That was another thing.

  After the usual hearty breakfast, with fried potatoes on the side, they got into the car. The brakes released without hesitation.

  The drive was more than fifty miles, half of it over dirt roads that were roller-coaster washboards, and they drove it in silence. Every few miles Matt would glance at Abbie out of the corner of his eye and shudder. As excited as she was, like a child, Abbie was contented to sit quietly and enjoy the ride, particularly when they swung off the dirt road onto Highway 665.

  When they came to Springfield, Abbie's face was glowing. She stared at the buildings as if they had sprung magically into being especially for her. Then she began to inspect the people walking along the streets. Matt noticed that it was the women who received her closest attention.

  Suddenly Matt noticed that Abbie was very quiet. He glanced toward her. She was still, staring down at her hands resting in her lap.

  "What's the matter?" Matt asked.

  "I guess," she said, her voice a little unsteady, "I guess I look pretty funny. I guess you'll feel ashamed having me along. If it's all right with you, Mr. Wright, I'll just sit in the car.

  "Nonsense," Matt said heartily. "You look fine." 'The little devil,' he thought. 'She has an uncanny talent for understanding things. She's either unusually perceptive or -- What?' "Besides, I'll need you to try on some clothes."

  "Clothes, Mr. Wright!" she exclaimed. She seemed to find it hard to speak. "You're going to buy some clothes."

  Matt nodded. He parked the car in front of Springfield's biggest department store. He came around to Abbie's door and helped her out. For a moment Abbie's face was level with his; her blue eyes locked with his dark ones in a look that Matt refused to analyze. They walked into the store, Abbie clinging to his arm. He could feel her heart beating swiftly. Matt stopped a moment to study the directory.

  "Second floor," he said.

  Abbie held back as Matt started off. "Kin we -- can we look around here -- for just a second?" Abbie asked hesitantly.

  Matt glanced at her and shrugged. "I suppose so."

  Abbie started off determinedly toward some mysterious, unseen destination, leading Matt down innumerable aisles. All theway to the back of the store they went, and emerged miraculously into the kitchenware department. Abbie stopped on the threshold, gazing rapturously at the gleaming pots and pans, beaters, knives, and gadgets, as if they were jewels. She dismissed with a glance the stoves and electrical appliances, but the cooking utensils brought forth long sighs. After a moment she moved among them, staring at them, touching them with one timid finger. She made little crooning sounds deep in her throat.

  Matt had to drag her away.

  They were almost to the stairs when Matt noticed that she was holding something to her breast. He stopped. He stared aghast. She was hugging a tiny frying pan of shiny aluminum and dully gleaming copper.

  "Where did you get that?" he demanded.

  "Back there," she said innocently. They got so many. They'll never miss a little thing like this."

  "But you can't do that!" Matt said. "That's stealing."

&n
bsp; "'Tain't stealing when they got so much and I got so little," she explained.

  "You've got to take it back!" Matt made a futile grab for the frying pan. Abbie hugged it to her breast with both arms.

  "Don't take it away from me!" she wailed. "Please don't make me take it back!"

  Matt glanced around nervously. So far no one seemed to be watching them. He turned back to Abbie. "Sh-h-h!" he said. "Be quiet now. Please be quiet." He looked at her pleadingly. She hugged the frying pan tighter. "All right," he sighed. "Stay here! Don't move! Don't say anything!"

  Quickly he walked back to kitchenwares. He caught the attention of the clerk. "How much are those?" he said, pointing to the frying pans.

  "Four-fifty, sir. Shall I wrap one up?"

  "Four-fifty!"

  "Yes, sir," the man said. "We have some cheaper ones in all aluminum -- "

  "Never mind," Matt said hurriedly. He pulled out his billfold. "Here. Give me a receipt and a sack."

  The clerk picked up a frying pan.

  "No, no," Matt said. "I don't want one. I just want a receipt and a sack."

  "But, sir," the man said bewilderedly. "You said -- "

  "Don't argue with me," Matt said. "Just give me a receipt and a sack!"

  The clerk rang up the sale, tore off the receipt, dropped it in a sack, and handed it to Matt with a very dazed expression on his face.

  "Anything else, sir?" he asked automatically.

  "I hope not," said Matt, and hurried away. When he looked back the clerk was still staring after him.

  Abbie was standing by the stairs where he had left her. "Put the frying pan in here," he whispered.

  She gave him a look of admiration. "Oh, that was real clever of you."

  Matt mopped his forehead. "Yes, wasn't it?" He took her arm and hurried her up the stairs. At the top Matt came to a halt and looked around. Abbie stared with big eyes at the racks upon racks of dresses.

  "I never knew," she whispered, "there was so many dresses in the world."

  Matt nodded absently. He had to get away long enough to find a laboratory from which to rent some testing apparatus.

  He saw a saleswoman, and drew her aside.

  "The girl over there," he said. "I want you to take her to the beauty parlor and give her the works. Haircut, shampoo, setting, facial, eyebrows thinned and shaped and a make-up job. Then get her a new outfit from the skin out. Can you do all that?"

  "The saleswoman looked quite pleased. "We'll be very happy to help you."

  Matt took out his billfold and peered into it. Slowly he extracted one traveler's check for one hundred dollars and then another. It left him only three hundred dollars, and he still had to get the equipment and live for the rest of the summer. Matt sighed and countersigned the checks. "Try to keep it under this," he said heavily. "If you can."

  "Yes, sir," said the saleswoman and hesitated, smiling. "Your fiancée?"

  "Good God, no," Matt blurted out. "I mean -- she's my -- niece. It's her birthday."

  He walked over to Abbie, breathing heavily. "Go with this woman, Abbie, and do what she tells you."

  "Yes, Mr. Wright," Abbie said dazedly. And she walked away as if she were entering into fairyland.

  Matt turned, biting his lip. He felt slightly sick.

  He had one more thing to do before he could leave the store. Making sure Abbie was gone, he went into the lingerie department. He regretted it almost immediately. Once he had seen a woman come into a pool hall; he must, he thought, wear the same sheepish, out-of-place expression.

  He swallowed his qualms -- they were a hard lump in his throat -- and walked up to the counter.

  "Yes, sir," said the young woman brightly, "what can I do for you?"

  Matt avoided looking at her. "I'd like to buy a negligee," he said in a low voice.

  "What size?"

  Matt began a motion with his hands and then dropped them hastily at his sides. "About five feet tall. Slim."

  The woman led him along the counter. "Any particular color?"

  "Uh -- black," Matt said hoarsely.

  The clerk brought out a garment that was very black, very lacy, very sheer. "This is thirty-nine ninety-eight."

  Matt stared at it. "That's awfully black," he said.

  "We have some others," the clerk began, folding the negligee.

  "Never mind," Matt said quickly. "Wrap it up." Furtively, he slipped the money over the counter.

  When he came out, the package under his arm, he was sweating freely.

  He put the box in his car and looked at his watch. He had about two and a half hours, at least. He should be able to find everything he needed in that time.

  He pulled a list of things out of his pocket, and found a telephone directory in a drugstore.

  Springfield had a laboratory supply house. He called the number, asked for the equipment he'd need, was told they had it for rent, and drove over to pick it up. The rental didn't seem like much by the day, but it was, he discovered on figuring it out, a lot by the month -- enough to break him fast if he didn't get something like a controlled series of tests, very fast.

  Feeling like a child-slayer, he drove back to the department store and parked.

  Only one hour had gone by. He went into the store and browsed about.

  Two hours. He put another nickel in the parking meter. He sat down in a red leather chair and tried to look as if he were testing it for size and comfort.

  Three hours. He fed the parking meter again, and began to feel hungry. He went back to the chair. From it, he could keep an eye on the stairs.

  Women went up and came down. None of them was Abbie. He wondered, with a flash of fear, if she had been caught trying to make off with something else.

  Matt tried not watching the stairs on the theory that a watched pot never boils. Never again, he vowed, would he go shopping with a woman. Where the devil was Abbie?

  "Mr. Wright." The voice was tremulous and low.

  Matt looked up and leaped out of his chair. The girl standing beside him was blonde and breath-taking. The hair was short and fluffed out at the ends; it framed a beautiful face. A soft, simple black dress with a low neckline clung to a small but womanly figure. Slim, long legs in sheer stockings and small black shoes with towering heels.

  "Good God, Abbie! What have they done to you?"

  "Don't you like it?" Abbie asked. The lovely face clouded up.

  "It's -- it's marvelous," Matt spluttered. "But they bleached your hair!"

  Abbie beamed. "The woman who worked on it called it a rinse. She said it was natural, but I should wash it every few days. Not with laundry soap, either." She sighed. "I didn't know there was so much a girl could do to her face. I've got so much to learn. Why, she -- "

  Abbie prattled on happily while Matt stared at her, incredulous. Had he been sleeping in the same cabin with this girl? Had she been cooking his meals and darning the holes in his pockets? Had he really kissed her and held her in his arms and heard her say, "I reckon I wouldn't be unwillin' -- "

  He wondered if he would act the same again.

  Matt had expected a difference but not such a startling one. She wore her clothes with a becoming sureness. She walked on the high heels as if she had worn them all her life. She carried herself as if she was born to beauty. But then, things always worked well for Abbie.

  Abbie opened a small black purse and took out five dollars and twenty-one cents. "The woman said I should give this back to you."

  Matt took it and looked at it in his hand and back at Abbie. He shrugged and smiled. "The power of money. Have you got everything?"

  Under her arm she carried a large package that contained, no doubt, the clothes and shoes she had worn. Matt took it from her. She refused to give up the package that held the frying pan.

  "I couldn't wear this," she said. She reached into her purse and pulled out something black and filmy. She held it up by one strap. "It was uncomfortable."

  Matt shot nervous glances to the right and the le
ft. "Put it away." He crammed it hack into the purse and snapped the purse shut. "Are you hungry?"

  "I could eat a hog," Abbie said.