“Something to eat for myself and horse, and room to sleep under your roof.”
“The wust on’t is,” he said, getting up and coming toward me, “we haven’t got much for your horse.”
“You’ve got corn, I suppose.”
“No, hain’t got no corn but a little that we want for ourselves, only just enough to bread us till corn comes again.”
“Well, you have oats?”
“Hain’t got an oat.”
“Haven’t you hay?”
“No.”
“Then I must go further, for my horse can’t travel on fodder.”
“Hain’t got nary fodder nuther.”