“Dilsey don’t know how to tree no ’possums,” said Riar, contemptuously, after they had walked for some time, and anxiously looked up into every tree they passed.
“Yes I kin,” retorted Dilsey; “I kin tree ’em jes ez same ez er dog, ef’n dar’s any ’possums fur ter tree; but I can’t make ’possums, do; an’ ef dey ain’t no ’possums, den I can’t tree ’em, dat’s all.”
“Maybe they don’t come out on the Fourf uv July,” said Dumps. “Maybe ’possums keeps it same as peoples,”
“Now, maybe dey duz,” said Dilsey, who was glad to have some excuse for her profitless ’possum-hunting; and the children, being fairly tired out, started back to the creek bank, when they came upon Uncle Snake-bit Bob, wandering through the woods, and looking intently on the ground.
“What are you looking for, Uncle Bob?” asked Diddie.
“Des er few buckeyes, honey,” answered the old man.
“What you goin’ ter du with ’em?” asked Dumps, as the little girls joined him in his search.
“Well, I don’t want ter die no drunkard, myse’f,” said Uncle Bob, whose besetting sin was love of whiskey.
“Does buckeyes keep folks from dying drunkards?” asked Dumps.
“Dat’s wat dey sez; an’ I ’lowed I’d lay me in er few caze I’ve allers hyearn dat dem folks wat totes a buckeye in dey lef’ britches pocket, an’ den ernudder in de righthan’ coat pocket, dat dey ain’t gwine die no drunkards.”