And though I don’t believe a word on it, and though I know it wuz made sense that time, and hain’t nigh so old, I can’t turn my companion’s mind round the wedth of a horse-hair.
He will go down to the grave a-thinkin’ that that wuz George Washington’s potash-kettle, and them mended-up places he found in it wuz made by the hired man a-kickin’ at it when he was mad at George.
Abel Perry’s Funeral.
Josiah Allen and me had visitors, along the last of the winter,—Abel Perry’ses folks from ’way out beyond Loontown.
They come in good sperits and the mornin’ train, and spent three days and three nights with us.
You see, they wuz relations of ourn, and had been for some time, entirely onbeknown to us, and they come a-huntin’ us up. They said “they thought relations ort to be hunted up, and hang together.” They said “the idee of huntin’ us up had come to ’em after readin’ my book.”
They told me so, and I said, “Wall.”
I didn’t add nor demenish to that one “Wall.” For I didn’t want to act too backward, nor too forward. I jest kep’ kinder neutral, and said, “Wall.”