Dad finished plowing and drove Sally toward the barn. Mama pointed her hoe up the hillside. "You finish hoeing that last five rows, I'm going to the house and can some beans before I have to get supper. And make sure you get the morning glories off them down in the hollow."
"I'll go down and see this Mattie when I get done." I had to be talking to myself. Every body else was twenty rows away with their backs turned. "I'll figure out what Dad is talking about."
It took me the balance of the evening to work out the few rows. The blamed morning glories wrapped around the corn stalks like hay bailing wire. I quit talking to myself and jerked the last few vines off, stripping the corn stalks bare.
It was near dusky dark when I got to the foot-log leading over to the house where this Mattie lived. When I got halfway across, I saw her come out the kitchen door with a wash-pan full of soapy water. She poured it on some wilted-looking roses. I stopped and stood still so's she wouldn't see me and get scared.
She was right pretty. Her black hair shined even in the dim light. I generally didn't pay much mind to how girls were built, cause it was all them older sisters of mine had on their minds. They talked about being round in the right places. Most of the time they just stood around waiting for some parts to grow. Under the green dress this Mattie wore, it looked like her body was filled out pretty well. Her eyes were not exactly blue. Their color put me in mind of a young saw briar vine. Everybody in our family and most of the ones we knew had black eyes. Maybe they was what Dad didn't like about her.
She was not as pretty as the girl that I had tried to take up with down at the mill. Anyway, this Mattie was pert-near ten years older than me, according to Dad. Girls were sorta like horses; sometimes I liked'em and sometimes I didn't. I hoped she didn't talk as much as my younger sisters or pester everybody to death like Ceece did.
After she went back in the house, I sat down on a big rock and tried to whittle something out of a laurel stick. That didn't work, so I whetted my knife on a piece of sandstone for a while.
A little later I got my nerve up and went to the door. "My name's Quill, Quill Vance."