"Um-h-h." Silence then fell until Jinny again found speech.
"Old Bess, that's the Cunnel's favoright dawg, you-all know, she done have 'leven puppies las' night."
"That so?"
"Yassah. Cunnel, he's off down on the Sun-flowah."
"Um-h-h."
"Yassah; got most all his dawgs wid 'im. We goin' to have b'ah meat now for sho',"—this with a wide grin.
"Reckon so," said the visitor. "When's Cunnel coming back, you reckon?"
"I dunno, suh, but he sho' won't come back lessen he gets a b'ah. If you-all could wait a while, yon-all could take back some b'ah meat, if you wantuh."
"Um-h-h," said the man, and fell again into silence. To all appearances, he was willing to wait here indefinitely, forgetful of the pail of milk, toward which the sun was now creeping ominously close. The way back home seemed long and weary at that moment. His lip drooped still more laxly, as he sat looking out vaguely.
Not so calm seemed his consort, she of the sun-bonnet. Eestored to some extent by her tarrying in the shade, she began to shift and hitch about uneasily upon the board-pile. At length she leaned a bit to one side, reached into a pocket and, taking out a snuff-stick and a parcel of its attendant compound, began to take a dip of snuff, after the habit of certain of the population of that region. This done, she turned with a swift jerk of the head, bringing to bear the tube of her bonnet in full force upon her lord and master.