"Jim Bowles," she said, "this heah is a shame! Hit's a plumb shame!"
There was no answer, save an uneasy hitch on the part of the person so addressed. He seemed to feel the focus of the sunbonnet boring into his system. The voice in the bonnet went on, shot straight toward him, so that he might not escape.
"Hit's a plumb shame," said Mrs. Bowles, again.
"I know it, I know it," said her husband at length, uneasily. "That is, about us having to walk up heah. That whut you mean?"
"Yassir, that's whut I do mean, an' you know it."
"Well, now, how kin I help it? We kain't take the only mewel we got and make the nigger stop wu'k. That ain't reasonable. Besides, you don't think Cunnel Blount is goin' to miss a pail o' melk now and then, do you?"
A snort of indignation greeted this supposition.
"Jim Bowles, you make me sick," replied his wife. "We kin get melk heah as long as we want to, o' co'se; but who wants to keep a-comin' up heah, three mile, for melk? It ain't right."
"Well, now, Sar' Ann, how kin I help it?" said Jim Bowles. "The cow is daid, an' I kain't help it, an' that's all about it. My God, woman!" this with sudden energy, "do you think I kin bring a cow to life that's been kilt by the old railroad kyahs? I ain't no 'vangelist."
"You kain't bring old Muley to life," said Sarah Ann Bowles, "but then—"