Ses Miss Collis, “Now, child, yure too hard for me! but they do say it’s to that Taler from Town. Well, he’s a putty man, and had on such a nice dress—’cept he’s most too much nock-nead, sich eyes and sich whiskers, and now don’t he play the fiddle?”
Ses Miss Bass, “Well, Dicey is a middlin’ peart gal, but for my part I don’t see what the taler seed in her.”
“Nor I nuther,” ses Miss Collis, “but she’s gwine to do well. I couldn’t a sed no if he’d a axed for our Polly.”
Then in comes Barbry, and we how-dy’d and both turned sorter red in the face, and I trimbl’d tolerable and felt agurry. Well, arter we talk’d a spell, all of us, Miss Bass got up and ses she:
“Miss Collis I want to show you a nice passel of chickens; our old speckled hen come off with eleven, yisterdy, as nice as ever you did see.”
Then old Miss Collis riz up, and puttin’ her hands on her hips, and stratened like, and ses, right quick:
“Laws a massy! my poor back! Drat the rumatics! It’s powerful bad; it’s gwyne to rain, I know!—oh, me! me!”—and they both went out.
Then Barbry look’d at me so comikil and sed:
“Billy, I raly shall die thinkin’ of you and old Troup!” and she throw’d herself back and laffed and laffed; and she looked so putty and so happy ses I to myself:
“Billy Warrick, you must marry that gal and no mistake, or brake a trace!” and I swore to it.