“I love to dig potatoes,” says sister Doodle, “and no money would have me to vote.”
“You do look like her, widder. If my own father disputed me on it, I’d stand my ground. You look like her, you make me think on her.”
“Well, then, you must think on me all you can; don’t be delicate about it at all. I’d love to think I could chirk you up, and be a comfort to you, in that way, or any other.”
“You do chirk me up, widder. I feel better than I did feel, when I came here to-day.”
“Well, then, you must come and be chirked up, oftener.”
“I will, widder.”
“Come Sunday night, or any time.”
“I will, widder, I will.”
I must say, that, as I heard her go on, I couldn’t help askin’ myself this mathematical question, and doin’ in my mind, this little sum in figures: