Jes’ think o’ havin’ apple blows, or ’simmons,
All ’t once that long! But then yer’d hev ter plow
An’ harrer tew fer three four years ’t a stretch;
Things ’d even up about the same, I reckon ...
Eight kinds o’ moonlight thar, Jehosaphat!
Wonder’f thet means eight kinds o’ moonshine tew!
An’ whadyer’ spose it dooz ter lovers, potes,
An’ bayin’ houn’ dawgs——” “O Bil-l-l! Ain’t ye com’n?”
’T was Laury callin’ ’im. She never knowed
How much she pestered Bill. “Le’s gwin,” he sez.