Ah, old man Hawk! He must have had a mental problem! I hadn't
thought of that old coot in years. I wonder what a psychiatrist
would have said about him. And Miss Dink. She didn't have a
mental problem; she was just blind and had to be looked after.
Fortunately her niece, Miss Ophelia, gave her a home. And Ward
Lawson, Miss Ophelia's husband! Now he was sure a sot drunkard-an
alcoholic if there ever was one.
One summer afternoon Mama had let me ride with her in our
buggy to visit Miss Dink, who, at that time, was living with the
Lawsons on the run-down Crawford place some few miles beyond
Rocky Head Creek.
I had a gourd dipper in my hand and was skipping along the
edge of the woods on my way down the path to Miss Dink's spring.
My hair, braided tight, was tied with ribbons that flipped and
rippled as I bounced along the trail. I could smell honeysuckle
blooms and climbing jasmine, and I was wishing I had the time to
chase the yellow butterflies that were swooping and fluttering
zigzag from bush to bush. But Miss Dink had wanted me to hurry to
the spring and bring her a gourdful of fresh water.
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