“No!” exclaimed the chorus.
“Yessir! With his pocket-knife. Carved ’em right into that polished wood. I said, ‘My God, Honey—what’r yuh doin’?”
“He jist kinda jerked back and looked at his knife, like he didn’t know. And then he says:
“‘Mrs. Bellew, I begs yore pardon—I thought it was a tree.’”
“He thought it was a tree?” exclaimed Mrs. West.
“Uh-huh. Dreamin’, I tell yuh. Thought he was out in the woods.”
“Good thing yuh caught him,” said Mrs. Selby, a little old lady. “He’d prob’ly put his own initials in it, too.”
“Crazier ’n a bedbug!” declared Grandma Owens, whose ninety years allowed her to speak definitely.
“Love, Grandma,” said Mrs. Bellew.
“Same thing Annie. I’ve watched ’em for ninety year, and they ain’t no difference—love and lunacy. Has the preacher come yet?”