Me and you can even up on that timothy seed
with the flour, Mr. Tucker, and I'm just a-going to give a measure to
the Poteets as a compliment to that new Poteet baby, which is the
seventh mouth to feed on them eighty-five acres. I've set yeast for
ourn and your rolls for to-morrow, tell your Aunt Mandy, Rose Mary,
and I brought that copy of the _Christian Advocate_ for your Aunt
Viney that she lost last month. Mis' Mayberry don't keep hern, but
spreads 'em around, so was glad to let me have this one. I asked about
it before I had got my bonnet-strings untied. Yes, Cal, I'm a-going
on in to give you your supper, for I expect I'll find the children's
and Granny's stomicks and backbones growing together if I don't hurry.
That's one thing Mr. Satterwhite said in his last illness, he never
had had to wait--yes, I'm coming, Granny," and with the encomium of
the late Mr. Satterwhite still unfinished Mrs. Rucker hurried up the
front path at the behest of a high, querulous old voice issuing from
the front windows.
"Well, there's no doubt about it, no finer woman lives along
Providence Road than Sallie Rucker, Marthy Mayberry and Selina Lue
Lovell down at the Bluff not excepted, to say nothing of Rose Mary
Alloway standing right here in the midst of my own sweet potato
vines," said Uncle Tucker reflectively as he glanced at the retreating
figure of his sturdy neighbor, which was followed by that of the lean
and hungry poet.
"Yes, she's wonderful," answered Rose Mary enthusiastically,
"but--but I wish she had just a little sympathy for--for poetry.
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