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But though this last subject wuz like a shinin’ bait, and he ketched on it and hung there for some time, a descantin’ on the rare excellencies of them two wonderful children, yet anon, or nearly so, he wriggled away from that glitterin’ bait and swung back to the subject that he had heard descanted on so powerfully the night John Richard come.

And in spite of all my nearly frenzied but peaceful efforts—for when he wuz so tired and beat out I wouldn’t use voyalence—he would resoom the subject.

And sez he for the third or fourth time:

“John Richard is a crackin’ good feller—they most all of ’em are that are on my side—but for all that I don’t believe a word of what he said about the South.”

I kep’ demute, and wouldn’t say what I did believe or what I didn’t, for I felt tired some myself; and I felt if he insisted and went on, I should be led into arguin’ with him.

For Cousin John Richard’s talk had fell into meller ground in my brain, and I more than mistrusted it wuz a springin’ up there onbeknown to me.