"S'pec' ever' man yo' meet to live on terbacker?" snapped Granny, without looking up.
"No," I replied; "I smoke."
"Then smoke. Yo' come too later fur dinner, so now we'll hev to mix terbacker instid."
It dawned upon me that it was a sort of guest rite he was offering me, so I crumbled some of the light yellow leaf into my pipe and fired it. Then he gnawed off a satisfactory chew, and stowed the remainder away.
He crossed his legs—by this time I had discovered that he wore boots with his trousers legs stuck down in the tops—in that comfortable, sagging way all old men have, and with one hand in his lap holding his elbow, he plucked gently at the front of his fringe of whiskers while his jaw worked erratically as he slowly adjusted the savory particles in his mouth.
No one spoke now for two or three minutes. It certainly was a new experience for me. A swift glance showed me that the Dryad had weighed the situation and was amused. Imps of fun danced in her eyes, and there was a tightening about her mouth which told me that she was holding herself in check with much effort. She was speechless from choice; the other two from nature.
Without warning Granf'er twisted his neck and ejected a curving stream of amber. It came down with a splash on the back of a half-grown chicken loitering near. There was a squawk of alarm, a flutter, a scurry from danger.
"That's right!" shrilled the bundle of fat. "Ef yo' can't kill 'em no other way, drownd 'em with terbacker juice!"
"Granf'er didn't see it!" championed Lessie. "It's under th' aidge o' the po'ch, 'n' 'tain't hurt no-how."
Once more I saw her teeth, like two rows of young corn when the husks are green.