“Wal, no, not so much as you might think; they’s a good deal of work on my place. I’ve been sickly, though, a good bit of my life, an’ had to sit by an’ let others do it. I know, Miss Barb’ry, that I’ve got the reputation of bein’ lazy, but it ain’t true: I ain’t lazy; I don’t mind workin’, but I don’t like to have to work. That’s what I like about vegetablin’: I can rest a little as I go along.”
“You are fortunate!”
There was a pause as the stubborn iron squeaked its way over the half-dry linen.
“Wal, I guess I must be goin’. You wouldn’t like no egg-plant, would ye?”
“No, I think not.”
“Shell I bring in a little pie-plant before I go? Ye might change your mind if you was to see it.”
“No, I won’t trouble you.”
“No trouble at all, even if it is a hot day. You’re sure you don’t want it?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Wal, good-day, then. Don’t fergit my respects to your ma.”