"Ah, didn't he, the old scoundrel. But Sam pecked a grain of corn out of my mouth this mornin' and never teched a tooth. That's what they call art, ain't it? Come out with me."
"Limuel, let him stay with me, won't you?" his wife pleaded.
"Of course, Susan, but don't you reckon a man wants to unstring himself once in a while? They can't understand us, Hawes. Women know all about the heart, but they are sometimes off on the soul."
"You think more of those old chickens than you do of me, anyhow," his wife whimpered, still resentful that he was not leaning upon her for support.
"Did you hear that, Hawes? By jings, sir, you've got to be foolish or a woman will think you've ceased to love her. The minute you are strong she thinks you have forgotten her. About the happiest woman I ever saw was one that had to support a bed-ridden husband. Fact, as sure as I'm standin' right here. She was the kindest and sweetest thing you ever saw, but when the feller got up finally and got strong enough to go about, blamed if she didn't jump on him every time he come in sight."
"Now, Limuel, you know you are makin' up every word of that."
"It's the truth, I tell you—knowed the man well."
"Well, who was he?"
"Oh, he lived away over yonder on the branch, out of your range."
"He didn't live anywhere; that's the truth of it."