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it.”
    â€œNot well off,” she said. “And, again, I’m sorry. Can’t we just forget it? And can I stay around for another little while?”
    â€œAs long as you wish,” I told her. “Forever, if you want to.”
    â€œHow about your friends and neighbors—will they talk about us?”
    â€œYou’re damn right they’ll talk about us. A place like Willow Bend hasn’t much to talk about; they grab at any little thing.”
    â€œYou don’t seem concerned.”
    â€œWhy should I be? I’m that nutty Steele kid, who came back to the old hometown, and they’re suspicious of me and resentful of me and the most of them don’t like me. They’re friendly, certainly, but they talk about me behind my back. They don’t like anyone who isn’t bogged down in their particular brand of mediocrity. It’s defensive, I suppose. In front of anyone who left the town and came back short of utter defeat, they feel naked and inferior. They are acutely aware of their provincialism. That is the way it is. So, unless you are concerned about yourself, don’t give it another thought.”
    â€œI am not at all concerned,” she said, “and if you are thinking of making an honest woman of me …”
    â€œThe thought,” I told her, “has not crossed my mind.”

SIX
    â€œSo you want to know about the coon that isn’t any coon,” Ezra Hopkins said to Rila. “It took me, God knows, long enough to find out that it wasn’t any coon.”
    â€œYou’re sure it’s not a coon?”
    â€œMiss, I’m sure of that. Trouble is, I don’t know what it is. If old Ranger here could only talk, maybe he could tell you more than I can.”
    He pulled at the ears of the gaunt hound that lay beside his chair. Ranger blinked his eyes lazily; he liked to have his ears pulled.
    â€œWe could bring Hiram here some time,” I said. “He could talk with Ranger. He claims that he can talk with Bowser. He talks with Bowser all the time.”
    â€œWell, now,” said Ezra, “I won’t argue with that. There’d been a time I would have, but not any more.”
    â€œLet’s not talk about Hiram and Bowser now,” said Rila. “Please go ahead and tell me of this coon.”
    â€œBoy and man,” said Ezra, “I have ranged these hills. For more than fifty years. There have been some changes other places, but not many of them here. This land isn’t fit for farming. It mostly stands on edge. Some parts of it are used to run cattle in, but even cattle don’t get no farther into the hills than they have to go. Time to time someone tries to do some logging, but it never amounts to much, because they lose money trying to get the timber out of here once it has been cut. So, all these years, these hills have been my hills. Them and the things that are in them. Legally, I own the few useless acres that this shack stands on, but, in another way, I own it all.”
    â€œYou love the hills,” said Rila.
    â€œWell, I suppose I do. Loving comes from knowing and I know these hills. I could show you things you never would believe. I know a place where the pink lady’s slippers grow and the pink ones are wild for sure. The yellow ones will stand some tampering with, although not very much; the pink ones won’t stand tampering at all. Turn some cattle into a place where the pink ones bloom and in a couple of seasons, they are gone. Pick more than a few of them and they are gone. People say you don’t find them any more, that there are no more in these hills. But I tell you, miss, I know where there is a patch of them. I don’t tell no one where and I don’t pick them and I don’t tramp around among them. I let them strictly be. I just stand off a ways and look at them and think of the pity of it—that once these hills were covered by them, but not any more. And