"I don't scold, and I don't see why you always keep a hintin' that I do. Scold! I never scolded in my life. You know you git mad every mornin' at breakfust. Man's always mad till he gits suthin' to eat. Scold indeed. And if I was to scold, which I don't, I'd have a cause."
"Cause! Did you ever know a woman to look fur a cause an' not find one? Jest make a cause of the needle in the hay-stack an' the woman will find it. And I want to tell you that the mo' causes a woman has the mo' disagreeable she is."
"Oh, it's no sich of a thing. A woman may slave an' slave an' never go off the place and—"
"Go off the place! Didn't you go to the barbecue over at the cross-roads last year?"
"Last year," she repeated; "it was year befo' last. Yes, an' look how you acted on that day—eat till I was ashamed o' you—acted like you never got anythin' at home. I never was so mortified in my life. Saw you standin' thar with the leg of a shote in yo' hand, a makin' of a speech."
"I was askin' a blessin' over the meat. I admit that I was hungry on that occasion; I'd been savin' myse'f up. Thar ain't no use in goin' to a barbecue unless you take yo' appetite with you."
"But thar's no sense in eatin' till everybody talks about it, goodness knows."
"Who talked about it?"
"Everybody, that's who. Oh, you wouldn't love me if I was a dyin'."
"I'd much ruther have you livin'."