“Don’t let him off so easy, Brudder Isrel,” said Andy, in high good humor, “or he’ll be sayin’ yer is deaf an’ dumb.”
“Words speak louder dan actions, Brudder Andy,” replied Israel, benignly.
“Take this chair, Israel,” said Roy, leading him to one. “We staid here to see you and hear you talk and sing.”
“Mighty kind in you, I’m shore, young marsters.”
“’Pears like ol’ times to see yer, Brudder Isrel,” said Andy, preparing to fill his pipe. “Kitty done say dis mornin’, she did, ‘whar’s Uncle Isrel, dat he ain’t been round dis fall?’”
“It’s mighty comfotable here, Brudder Andy, that is a fac’,” asserted Israel as Roy gently relieved him of his cane and placed it in a corner.
“Put some more cobs on the fire, you Mose, and hand Uncle Isrel a coal to light his pipe; it is done gone out,” said Chloe, hospitably.
“Maybe the young marsters don’t like the smell of the pipe?” suggested Israel, hesitating between respect for them and his longing for a smoke.
“Oh, don’t mind us,” said the boys cordially, “we want you to feel at home.”
“Dey is all well-mannered boys,” remarked Uncle Andy complacently; “I has done a heap towards trainin’ our two. I allus says, ‘Boys, let us ol’ culled folks hab de dirty pipes, ’kase we can’t be spiled; but don’t yer sile yer nice clean mouves wid no whiskey nor terbaccy.’ An’ dey has promised; an’ ol’ Andy kin trust ’em.”