him right smaht.
"Aftah suppah—I remember like hit war last evenin'—he took gran'paw's old fiddle an' tuned hit up an' sot thar an' played everything you evah heered. He played like the' war birds singin' an' rain fallin', an' like the wind when hit goes wailin' round the house in the pine tops—soft an' sad—like that-a-way. Gran'paw's old fiddle. I used to keer a heap fer hit, but one time Farwell got religion, an' he took an' broke hit 'cause he war 'feared Frale mount larn to play an' hit would be a temptation of the devil to him."
"Well, I say! That was a crime, you know."
"Yes. Sometimes I lay here an' say what-all did I marry Farwell fer, anyway. Well—every man has his failin's, the' say, an' Farwell, he sure had hisn."
"May I keep these books a short time? I will be very careful of them. You know that, or you would not have shown them to me."
"You take them as long as you like. Hit ain't like hit used to be. Books is easy come by these days—too easy, I reckon. Cassandry, she brung a whole basketful of 'em with her. Thar they be on that cheer behin' my spinnin'-wheel."
"Was the basket full of books? So, that was why it was so heavy. Might I have a look at them?"