“Josiah Pott! How you do talk! What do you mean by it, anyhow?”
“Purty much as I say. I’m always bungling things of late. I––well–––”
“Now, you set down in that chair, and stop staring at me for all the world like an old wood-owl, ’most scaring the wits out of me. One would think you’d gone clean out of your head. I never heard you talk so in all my born days. If you ain’t sick, you’re in a heap of trouble. Now, do as I tell you and set down. Tell me what’s wrong, that is if that’s what you come down for.”
“That’s why I come down, Clemmie,” he said, slouching into one of the kitchen chairs. “I heerd you come down-stairs, and I just had to follow. Fust of all, I want to tell you how bad I feel about them things I said yesterday morning that hurt your feelings so.”
“For the lan’ sakes! Be that what’s ailing you? I thought it was something that 216 amounted to something,” she declared, the color rising into her faded cheeks.
“That does amount to something. It means a lot to me. That ain’t all, but I wanted to get it off my chest fust. I was never intending less to hurt nobody than when I said that to you. I thought ’twould cheer you and Mack up a little; you was both looking a mite blue. You’re a good woman, Clemmie, and any man that’d insult you would have me to settle with purty tolerable quick. You know how much I think of you.”
“Be you beginning to propose again?” she asked, her arms akimbo. “If that’s what’s ailing you, and you’re asking my pardon just to get ready to ask me–––”
“Don’t get mad, Clemmie. No, I ain’t going to get down on my old prayer-bones, they’re a mite too squeaky, though I’d be willing enough to do it if I thought it would do any good. I ain’t going to pester you any more about that. You know your mind, and it ain’t right for me to be disturbing it at my time of life.”
“Then, Josiah, if you ain’t love-sick, what is it?”