The fire, was snappin’ clabboards on the house,
Like pistol shots thet kind o’ made us jump.
“It’s twenty-six below,” sez Bill, ez he
Throwed on another mess o’ coal; “I reck’n
We’ll need them extry quilts ternight. I’m glad
It’s be’n a-snowin’ some on thet ’ar field
O’ wheat this week; they wouldn’t be no crop
This spring if ’t hedn’t. Caint remember when
It’s ever be’n so cold afore here’bouts.
Reck’n Laury’s plants ’ll hev ter be brung up