"Kin I do it?" he was saying. "Kin I do it?" Then he would stop his walk and his cogitations would bloom into a mirthful chuckle. Something very pleasant was passing through his mind.
As he approached, Viney was standing in the door of the little cabin, whose white sides with green Madeira clambering over them made a pretty frame for the dark girl in her print dress. The husband bent double at sight of her, stopped, took off his hat, slapped his knee, and relieved his feelings by a sounding "Who-ee!"
"What's de mattah wid you, Ben? You ac' lak you mighty happy. Bettah come on in hyeah an' git yo' suppah fo' hit gits col'."
For answer, the big fellow dropped the hoe and, seizing the slight form in his arms, swung her around until she gasped for breath.
"Oh, Ben," she shrieked, "you done tuk all my win'!"
"Dah, now," he said, letting her down; "dat's what you gits fu' talkin' sassy to me!"
"Nev' min'; I'm goin' to fix you fu' dat fus' time I gits de chanst—see ef I don't."
"Whut you gwine do? Gwine to pizen me?"
"Worse'n dat!"
"Wuss'n dat? Whut you gwine fin' any wuss'n pizenin' me, less'n you conjuh me?"