On account of her never having had children of her own, and being alone in that old house for all those years since the untimely (and, some would say, Lord knows I never would, but some would say suspicious) death of her husband (though you have to admit it’s queer as anything, no one ever could explain how in God’s name poor Abner ended up down the bottom of that well), she took quite a shining to the young Miller boy when he began to be of help, and would always invite him in after he’d done whatever his Pa sent him down the hill to do; mending a fence or wrangling a calf; and so often you’d find him sitting on her porch with a cool cup of water in one hand and a biscuit in the other that one might get the impression he was her son, she so doted on the boy, and really it was heartening to see, wasn’t it, after so many years of her being alone; of her being hid away in that drafty place with not a soul for company (it being some time, you remember, before anyone’d go back down that way for anything, after Abner’s eerie passing, rest his soul); and the Miller boy being as he is (one foot in the fairy ring is what Gran would say), well, he was lonely himself, I’d be willing to bet, and being as he is (a kind soul, too gentle to hurt a fly; Mr. Dorsey never forgot the time he near fainted at the sight of a rooster being slaughtered, bless him) seemed to have no trouble looking past her reputation as a (again, I’d never be the one to say this) murderous witch, if even he knew her reputation at all (I don’t see how he couldn’t have, even a solitary child like himself, when you think of that awful rhyme that got sung so often in the schoolyard, and the way the older boys would dare each other down that valley road on dark nights), so the two of them got on as well as two very odd and quiet persons can, like a pair of mismatched animals finding the same shelter.
if it were a snake it would've bit you
if it were a snake it would've bit you
if it were a snake it would've bit you
On account of her never having had children of her own, and being alone in that old house for all those years since the untimely (and, some would say, Lord knows I never would, but some would say suspicious) death of her husband (though you have to admit it’s queer as anything, no one ever could explain how in God’s name poor Abner ended up down the bottom of that well), she took quite a shining to the young Miller boy when he began to be of help, and would always invite him in after he’d done whatever his Pa sent him down the hill to do; mending a fence or wrangling a calf; and so often you’d find him sitting on her porch with a cool cup of water in one hand and a biscuit in the other that one might get the impression he was her son, she so doted on the boy, and really it was heartening to see, wasn’t it, after so many years of her being alone; of her being hid away in that drafty place with not a soul for company (it being some time, you remember, before anyone’d go back down that way for anything, after Abner’s eerie passing, rest his soul); and the Miller boy being as he is (one foot in the fairy ring is what Gran would say), well, he was lonely himself, I’d be willing to bet, and being as he is (a kind soul, too gentle to hurt a fly; Mr. Dorsey never forgot the time he near fainted at the sight of a rooster being slaughtered, bless him) seemed to have no trouble looking past her reputation as a (again, I’d never be the one to say this) murderous witch, if even he knew her reputation at all (I don’t see how he couldn’t have, even a solitary child like himself, when you think of that awful rhyme that got sung so often in the schoolyard, and the way the older boys would dare each other down that valley road on dark nights), so the two of them got on as well as two very odd and quiet persons can, like a pair of mismatched animals finding the same shelter.