“He hev been plantin’ round thar some, a’ready,” said the old woman.
“Corn, pumpkins, wheat, an’ terbacco,” supplemented the daughter-in-law.
“An’ he hev got him some bee-gums,—I never hearn how many bees,” said Mrs. Sayles.
“Down in Piomingo Cove!” the climax of worldly prosperity.
“Laws-a-massy!” exclaimed Mrs. Sayles, with a freshened realization of despair. “Lethe ain’t never goin’ ter live in that house! I dunno what ails the gal! She takes a notion ez she likes a man with sech ways ez she can’t abide, an’ she quar’ls with him mornin’ an’ evenin’. An’ then when a feller kems along, with all sort’n good ways ez she likes, she don’t like him! Gals never acted similar whenst I war young. I ’low it mus’ be the wiles o’ Satan on the onruly generation.”
“Lethe ’pears ter think the Lord hev app’inted the rocky way,” said the other. “She be always a-doin’ of what’s the hardest. An’ she can’t quit nowhar this side o’ nuthin’! Ef ever she’s condemned ter Torment she’ll kerry a leetle kindlin’ along, fur fear the fire won’t be het up hot enough ter burn her fur her sins.”
She was silent during a momentary activity of the snuff-brush.
“But ef I war you-uns, Lethe, an’ hed the chance o’ livin’ in my own house all ter myself”—she began anew.
“Plenty o’ elbow-room,” interrupted Mrs. Sayles; “not all jammed tergether, like we-uns hyar.”
Alethea, aware of her lack of logic, made an effort to effect a diversion.