You go free till about this time next year, anyhow. You an' me'll celebrate the birthday between ourselves with that contrac'. You needn't git oneasy Thanksgivin', or picnic-time, or Easter, or no other time 'twixt this an' nex' Christmas—less'n, of co'se, you stray off an' git stole.
An' this here reprieve, I want you to understand, is a present from the junior member of this firm.
Lord! but I'm that tickled! This here wood ain't much needed in the house,—the wood-boxes 're all full,—but I can't devise no other excuse for vacatin'—thess at this time.
S'pose I might gether up some eggs out 'n the nestes, but it'd look sort o' flighty to go egg-huntin' here at midnight—an' he not two hours ol'.
I dunno, either, come to think; she might need a new-laid egg—sof b'iled. Reckon I'll take a couple in my hands—an' one or two sticks o' wood—an' I'll draw a bucket o' water too—an' tote that in.
Goodness! but this back yard is bright ez day! Goin' to be a clair, cool night—moon out, full an' white. Ef this ain't the stillest stillness!
Thess sech a night, for all the world, I reckon, ez the first Christmas, when He come—
When shepherds watched their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The angel o' the Lord come down,
An' glory shone around—
thess like the hymn says.
The whole o' this back yard is full o' glory this minute. Th' ain't nothin' too low down an' mean for it to shine on, neither—not even the well-pump or the cattle-trough—'r the pig-pen—or even me.