“I s’pose it’s all right,” said Mrs. West dubiously. “How is Peggy?”
“Standin’ it right good,” said Aunt Emma. “Never seen a prettier bride in my life. Laura Hatton dressed her, and that girl does show good taste, even if she is from the East.”
“I never set no great store by Easterners,” said Mrs. Bellew. “But Laura’s nice. And she’s pretty, too. She’s sure put the Injun sign on ‘Honey’ Bee. That boy ain’t worth the powder it would take t’ blow him to Halifax. This may sound like an exaggeration, but it’s as true as I’m settin’ here; Honey Bee cut L.H. on the side of my organ.”
“No!” exclaimed the chorus.
“Yessir! With his pocket-knife. Carved ’em right into that polished wood. I said, ‘My ⸺, 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.”