"Ayes, but them butternut trousers ain't what they used to be when they was young an' limber," Uncle Peabody remarked. "Seems so they was gettin' kind o' wrinkled an' baldheaded-like, 'specially where I set down."
"Ayes! Wal I guess a man can't grow old without his pants growin' old, too—ayes!" said Aunt Deel.
"If yer legs are in 'em ev'ry Sunday they ketch it of ye," my uncle answered. "Long sermons are hard on pants, seems to me."
"An' the longer the legs the harder the sermons—in them little seats over 't the schoolhouse—ayes!" Aunt Deel added by way of justifying his complaint. "There wouldn't be so much wear in a ten-mile walk—no!"
The chicken pie was baking and the strawberries were ready for the shortcake.
"I've been wallerin' since the dew was off gittin' them berries an' vi'lets—ayes!" said Aunt Deel, now busy with her work at the stove.
"Aunt, you look as young as ever," I remarked.
She slapped my arm and said with mock severity:
"Stop that! W'y! You know better—ayes!"
How vigorously she stirred the fire then.