Martin. (Slowly.) Y-e-s.
Uncle Nat. Dooze ‘e calkalate t’ take in the knoll thet looks out t’ Al’gator Reef?
Martin. I reck’n he dooze.
Uncle Nat. Did yeh tell him thet mother’s berried there?
Martin. He knows thet ‘s well ‘s you do. (Sulkily.)
Uncle Nat. What’s he calkalate t’ do with mother?
Martin. He advises puttin’ her in a cimitry up to Bangor.
Uncle Nat. She’d never sleep comfort’ble in no cimitry, mother wouldn’t.
Martin. He says thet’s the choice lot o’ the hull pass’ll.
Uncle Nat. Then who’s got so good a right to it as mother hez? It was all her’n once. Thet’s the only piece she ast t’ keep. Yeh don’t begrutch it to her, do yeh, Martin?