“‘Well,’ says he, ‘I wants it.’
“‘An’ ’tis on a side-hill,’ says I. ‘If the dunderheads doesn’t dig with care, you’ll find yourself with your feet higher’n your head.’
“‘Well,’ says he, ‘I wants it.’
“‘You isn’t got no friends in this neighborhood,’ says I; ‘they’re all put away on the north side. An’ the sun,’ says I, ‘doesn’t strike here last.’
“‘I wants it,’ says he.
“‘What for?’ says I.
“‘Nothin’ much,’ says he; ‘but I wants it.’
“‘But what for?’ says I.
“‘Well,’ says he, in a temper, ‘I got a hankerin’ for it!’
“‘Then, Uncle Bill,’ says I, for it made me sad,’ I wouldn’t mind them little graves. They’re poor wee things,’ says I, ‘an’ they wouldn’t disturb your rest.’