"Well," cried Reuben, calling abuse to the rescue of surprise—"you hemmed lazy good-fur-nothing, you!—wud all the Glotten hay to be cut, and ten acres o' hops to be sprayed, and you go laying in bed lik a lady, and then come out all dressed as if you wur going to church. Where's your corduroys?"
"In my box—you can clöathe the naked wud 'em—I'm never going to put 'em on no more."
"I'm hemmed if I'll have you working on my farm in that foolery. You'll mäake us the laughing-stock of Peasmarsh. You've got Ebenezer on the brain, you have, and you can justabout git it off again."
"I'm never going to do another ströake of wark on your farm as long as I live. Salvation's got me."
Reuben dropped the insect-killer.
"I'm the Lord's lost lamb," announced Pete.
"The Lord's lost——!" cried his father angrily. "You täake off them blacks, and git to work lik a human being."
"I tell you I'm never going to work fur you agäun. I'm going forth to spread the Word. Salvation's got me."
"You wait till I git you, that's all," and Reuben ran at Pete.