"Oh, I reckon not," answered Uncle Tucker, puffing away as he laid
out his monkey-wrenches. "The Honorable Gid is up to his neck in this
here no-dram wave what is a-sweeping around over the state and pretty
nigh rising up as high as the necks of even private liquor bottles.
Gid's not to say a teetotaler, but he had to climb into the bandwagon
skiff or sink outen sight. He's got to tie down his seat in the state
house with a white ribbon, and he's got no mind for fooling with
phosphate dirt. He's a mighty fine man, and all of Sweetbriar thinks a
heap of him. Do you want to help me lift this wagon wheel on to this
jack, so I can sorter grease her up against the next time I use her?"
"Say, Uncle Tuck, Aunt Viney says for you to come right there now and
bring Mr. Mark and a spade and a long string with you," came just at
the critical moment of balancing the notched plank under the revolving
wagon wheel, in Stonewall Jackson's young voice, which held in it
quite a trace of Miss Lavinia's decisive tone of command. Stonie
stood in the barn door, poised for instant return along the path of
duty to the front walk, only waiting to be sure his summons would be
obeyed. Stonie was sturdy, freckled, and in possession of Uncle
Tucker's big gray eyes, Rose Mary's curled mouth and more than a tinge
of Aunt Viney's austerity of manner.
"Better come on," he further admonished. "Rose Mary can't hold that
vine up much longer, and if she lets go they'll all fall down.
Pages:
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38