Nannie looked up from under her curls with a glance half inquiring, half defiant.
“When wimmin's young they be like a colt—it's hard ter keep 'em stiddy. When they git older they be somethin' like a mule—it's hard ter start 'em up now an' agin.”
“I guess men are the same. They belong to the same stock—all the world's akin, you know,” said Nannie mischievously.
“All the world's akin, eh?” said the old man slowly, turning this thought over in his mind. “Well, now, mebbe thet's so, but if it is ther's a deal of difference atween ther cousins.”
Again Nannie's face grew thoughtful. Then she raised her eyes and pointed, with a little laugh, to a passer-by.
“There goes one kind of a cousin, I suppose.”
“He's a coon,” said the old man. “Him an' his mother, they live off yonder nigh ther swamp. They used ter own this 'ere place ye're on, an' then it passed ter ther datter, an' then her husban' bought it. She's in ther insane asylum now, an' these rel'tives claim she ain't crazy, but thet she was put in by ther malice of her husban'. An' they claim he's got ther place wrongful, an' hadn't a right ter sell ter you folks.”
“That's why they're bothering us so?”
“Thet's why,” said old Hayseed.
“Well, they'll find we're two many for them.”