"Thank you—'specially as my eyes ain't right good this mornin'. Skuze us, Laz," she said, turning to go into the house.
"Help yo'se'f," Laz replied, again wiping his jews-harp; and when the two women had gone into the house, he began to play, and the old man, sitting now upon the wood-pile, looking over his epitaph, nodded time. Suddenly the musician left off.
"Say, Peters has got his app'intment."
The old man's arms dropped. "Air you shore?"
"I'm a tellin' you. He's got it writ out on a piece of paper that looks like white luther."
"Wall," said Jasper, getting up. "I don't know of any man that's a goin' to w'ar out his shoes a runnin'. But I'm sorry. Was in hopes that he couldn't git it. An' yit, I didn't put the strings back into my shoes."
"I understand. You don't want to die with 'em on. But I wouldn't give him any of the advantage."
"No, Laz, fur the man that gives the mad dog any of the advantage is almost shore to git bit. An' I don't want Jim to know any mo' about this comin' trouble than he kin help."
"I reckon not, Jasper. It's sorter noised about that he's a pinin' for the lady from off yander."
"Yes, caliker is got him at last. It's all right, though. The Lord has lit up brown jeans with a smile. Now, here's what I want cut on that rock," he added, handing the paper to Laz, but suddenly withdrawing it, remarked: "Remember, I ain't lendin' you this."