"Don't begin to howl an' pull back like a dawg tied under a wagin, Plaster," Pearline urged prettily, as she helped herself to liberal portions of the breakfast prepared in Sheriff Flournoy's kitchen. "You won't kick about wearin' it as long as you loves me, will you?"
"No'm," Plaster said, as he lifted the chain to a more comfortable place upon the dining-table. "But I shore wish dat white man hadn't choosed such a heavy chain."
"Dis chain ain't heavy, Plaster," Pearline protested. "You hadn't oughter talk dat way. Excusin' dat, I likes dis chain—it ties us to each yuther. Don't you like it?"
"Yes'm, I shore does."
"How come you complains about it fer?"
"I ain't got no lament, Pearline—dat is, I ain't mean it dat way."
The bridegroom filled his mouth with food and for the next ten minutes ate voraciously. One watching him would draw the inference that he was not eating to enjoy the food so much as to find some occupation for his mouth beside speech.
Pearline reached out with her free hand and toyed with the chain, twisting it about her fingers lovingly, a dreamy light in her coal-black eyes.
"Us had de biggest weddin' in cullud circles, Plaster," she murmured.
"I ain't no cullud circle," Plaster mumbled, his mouth full of food. "But I reckin I got to run circles aroun' you 'slong as dis ole chain stays on. Don't rattle dat chain so loud, Pearly! Gosh! It makes a heap of racket fer its little size."