THE RETURN OF THE HOE
“Goliath Johnsing, why you so late? Supper been a sp’ilin’ on de stove dis half hour,” and Aunt Lucy faced her liege lord with stern dignity.
“Old Daddy Moses an’ me been a havin’ it out.”
“Havin’ what out? You ain’t been an’ had a fuss wid Mr. Benson, ’Liah Johnsing?”
“Yes, I have. Ole Skincher. Here I have been a hoein’ hard in the fiel’ all day, and he mean enough to dock my wages ten cents ’cause I warn’t back at noon jest at de minnit. I warn’t late more’n half an hour or three-quarters of an hour. But I give him piece of my mind.”
“I s’pose he don’ want to pay for work he don’ git.”
“Don’ git? Why, thar was Sam Stevens an’ Bill Jenkins; they talk more’n half de time, an’ rested on they handles more’n t’other half, an’ did he dock them any? Not he. He got spite ’gin me, I know dat.”
“Whar’d you git dat new hoe?” queried Aunt Lucy, as ’Liah hung that implement up in the woodshed.
“Neber you mind. Women always want to stick their nose into ebbert’ing.”