Iss fay, He fills all things livin' with plenshousness, an'
fats the root an' swells the corn 'cause He'm breathin' sweet over the
land--'cause He'm wakin' an' watchin' for you, Joan."
"He'm watchin' all of us, I s'pose--just to catch the trippin' footstep,
like what faither sez. He abbun no call to worry no more 'bout me, I
reckon. I be Nature's cheel, I be; an' my mother's turnin' hard too--like a
cat, as purrs to 'e wan moment an' sclows 'e the next. My day's done. I've
chose wrong an' must abide by it. But 'tis along o' bein' sich a lil fool.
Nature pushes the weak to the wall. I've seed that much 'o late days. I was
born to have my heart broke, I s'pose. 'Tedn' nothin' very straange."
"I judge your angel do cry gert tears when you lets on like that, my Joan.
Oh, gal, why won't 'e give ear to me, as have lived fifty an' more winters
in the world than what you have? Why caan't 'e taste an' try what the Lard
is? Drabbit this nonsense 'bout Nature! As if you was a fitcher, or an
'awk, or an owl! Caan't 'e see what a draggle tail, low-minded pass all
this be bringin' 'e to? Yet you'm a thinkin' creature an' abbun done no
worse than scores o' folks who be tanklin' 'pon harps afore the throne o'
God this blessed minute. You chose wrong; you said so, an' I was glad to
hear 'e, for you never 'lowed even that much till this night. What then?
Everybody chooses wrong wan time or another.
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