Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some!
She seemed to’ve gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he’d come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.
She heered a foot, an’ knowed it, tu,
A-raspin’ on the scraper—
All ways to once her feelin’s flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.
He kin’ o’ l’itered on the mat,
Some doubtfle o’ the sekle,