Ipsie stared roundly and meditatively.
"Dunno!"—she said—"'Specks I will! But oh, my Zozey-Posey IS so bad!" and she screwed her little flaxen head round with an expression of the most comical distress—"See my wip?" And she held up a long stem of golden-rod in flower,—"Zozey dot to be wipped— poor Zozey! But he's dot to be tied up fust!"
Josey heard all this nonsense babble with delighted interest, and surveyed the tops of his decorated boots with much admiration.
"Ain't she a little caution!" he said—"She do mind me somehow of th' owld Squire's gel! Ay, she do!—Miss Maryllia was just as peart and dauntsome when she was her age. Did I ever tell ye, Passon, 'bout Miss Maryllia's legs an' the wopses' nest?"
John started violently. What was the old man talking about? He felt that he must immediately put a stop to any chance of indecorous garrulity.
"No, you never told me anything about it, Josey,"—he said, hastily,—"an I've no time just now to stay and listen. I'm off on a visit for two or three days—you won't see me again till Sunday."
Josey drew his pipe slowly out of his mouth.
"Goin' away, Passon, are ye?" he said in quavering accents of surprise—"Ain't that a bit strange like?"
"Why yes, I suppose it is,"—said John, half laughing—"I never do go away I know—but—-"
"Look 'ere Passon! Speak frank an' fair!—there baint nothin' drivin' ye away, be there?"