The old soul looked crestfallen. "I allow you foller chawing manufact', and this here hain't nothing but home-made," she apologized.
"No, I should prefer this to manufactured if I took it at all," Virginia assured her; and to Phronie she said: "Tell us more about your baby. How old is it?"
"Well, women," said Phronie, in a surprised tone, "I don't rightly know. Hit were borned quite a spell before corn-crapping time—about three or four week, weren't hit, granny?"
"Nigher five," granny replied. "I ricollect hit by the dark of the moon."
"Then it's around four months old?"
"I reckon. But hit hain't growed none sence the day hit come."
"Has it been sick?"
"No, hit don't appear to be—never hollers or cries none; I never seed a civiler baby. Hit jest lays and pines and pindles."
"Do you nurse it yourself?"
"Give hit suck, you mean? Yes, I allus have a plenty for two young-uns. And hit'll mostly take the teat all right, but will jest kindly mouth hit, and not suck hearty like t'other young-uns."