Sweet little creeters, I think my eyes on ’em.
Genieve, I see, when I went in wuz a readin’ some book, and as I looked closter at it I see it wuz the Bible. I see she wuz a readin’ about her favorite topick, the old prophets and their doin’s and their sayin’s.
And as I sot down a few minutes by the side of my sweet darlin’s she begun to talk to me about Daniel, and St. John, and some of the rest of them good, faithful old prophets.
Why, she wuz brung up with ’em, as you may say.
She had sot under them old prophets ever sence she had sot at all.
And why shouldn’t she went on about ’em and love ’em when she had fairly drinked in their weird, fascinatin’ influence with her mother’s milk?
She wuz a readin’ about Daniel jest as I went in—about how Daniel stood by the deep waters and heard a voice sayin’ to him:
“Understand.”
And sez she, with her great, beautiful eyes all aglow, “Don’t you think that we who stand by deep waters to-day can hear the voice if we listen?”