"
"That's right, Margaret. I don't kere what a man says when he's a
preachin', jest so he don't p'int at me. He kin say that Moses drunk up
the Red Sea ef he wants to--but he mustn't p'int as if he could prove it
by me."
"Oh, it would do you a world of good ef he did p'int at you. Nuthin' on
the yeth would please you so much."
Down into the lowlands lying along a blue river the wagon rolled. Here
the vegetation was rank, and the tops of the hickory trees were dim in
the dazzling blue above. Great birds with long legs stretched out far
behind, flew past, ancient war-bolts they seemed; and a flying squirrel
looped his flight from one tree to another. The tall rattle weed, in
bloom, nodded a yellow salute as they passed.
"We are the guests of honor," said Mrs. Mayfield. "They have marshalled
a gay army of soldiers to meet us."
"The roots of them weeds is pizen," Jasper spoke up, cutting off a
yellow plume with his whip. "They look suthin' like the stalk of
angelica an' sometimes they air dug up by mistake fur sich. See that
squirrel.
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