CHAPTER VII. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



" I HOPE j-o's gwine to hab mo' ob dem talks 'boout 

 de insecks, Mars MaytieP." 



So Dan greeted me a few days after our first fireside 

 meetiug. He twirled his battered hat brim tlu'ough 

 his horii}- hands, then ru])bed a white palm against the 

 back of his grizzled locks, ducked his head forward and 

 continued: " I doan jes kno' w'at yo 'd call 'em, sah, 

 but Sar}^ Ann 'lowed dey's say-an^-saijs. ' An' w'at are 

 say-an''-says, Sary Ann?' says I. 'Wal,' says she, 

 'day's a sort ob free an' easy kine o' talk, w'ar yo 

 says, an' den I says, an' all jine in an' helps de talk 

 along. Now dat 's a powerful pleasant kine ob affar. 

 Mars Mayfield, an' suits us 'ns lieap better 'n loafin' 

 rouu' de kentry store, an' sich. So we uns — dat 's 

 Hugh's folks an' Sary Ann an' me — we makes bold to 

 ax yo, wouldn't yo 'low us de priv'lege ob jinin' in de 

 say-an^-saiis, in case yo gwine to hab mo' ob 'cm, an' 

 we sincerely hope yo is." 



"Why, Han, I haduH thought much about it," I 



answered. "But you maybe .sure if there should be 



any more ' say-an'-says,' you all will be welcome to the 



fireside." 



"T'ank yo, sah ; we 's all powe'ful 'bleegcd to yuh, 

 103 



