Beeler.
What makes you think so?
Uncle Abe.
Solemnly.
Roots all kill by de fros'!
His manner grows more and more mysterious; he half closes his eyes, as he goes on in a strange, mounting singsong.
Knowed it more'n a monf ago, fo' dis hyah blin' worl' lef' de plough in de ploughshare an' de ungroun' wheat betwixen de millstones, and went a-follerin' aftah dis hyah new star outen de Eas', like a bride follerin' aftah de bridegroom!
Martha taps her forehead significantly, and goes back to her batter.
Beeler.
New star, Uncle? Tell us about it. Sounds interesting.