Edgefield advertiser. [volume] (Edgefield, S.C.) 1836-current, 1897-12-15

look sort o looney.
"Hit's the supper" explained Tip,
dismally. ''The gals is gone to the
picnic, an their beau1 is comin' back
with 'em; be yere OF six, an Izory
she's so on hevin' supper NIL ready
when they come. The's light bread
enough-we can make out with-an' I
kin cook ham an make coffee; but
looky we're at all this yere garden
truck, an me like ole woodchuck
ferg.ttin' how she sayed fer to cook it.
Don't know no more'n thAt ole Bran
mer rooster out yander how ter fix the
tomotuses, ner beans, ner nothin'."
Uncle Tip groaned, while Aunt
Dorcas united her black sunbonnet,
sat down and laughed until her portly
form fairly quaked.
aUncle Tip" said she, 'I know
whut Izory is, I know what you air, I
know whut cookin' meal O. vittles is,
an I b'leeve I know whut my simple
Chrishen iuty to good neighbor-man
is. Now, you run an split me up
some good, dry kin'lin's, fill up the
wood-box, fetch me bucket of water,
an I'll hev everything goin' before you
kin bat your eyes twicet, an mix q
pan of sody biskit in the bargain"
The widow seized a gingham apron
of Izora's, tied it about her ample
waist, rolled up her black calico
sleeves. and in very moderate space
of tim, lad the big coffee-boiler steam
ing, the vegetables baking, stewing.
frying or boiling, according to their
various requirements, huge skillet
of ham sputtering on the stove and o
painful of bouncing big biscuits oil
ready for the oven.
As for Uncle Tip, he was in an
ecstacy of delight, skipping about to
render what assistance he could, doing
the widows behests with gleeful
alacrity, and commenting upon the
proceedings with wonder and Joy.
'sDon't it beat you," he observed,
gazing upon the clouds of steam from
the various kettles and saucepans with
fascinated eyes, chow slic.l things'll
go when anybuddy takes q holt 'at
knows how2 Jest look at them tomo-
fuses a-bubblin' up thick an red, an
smell them roastin' years, an listen at
the ham a-sizzlin'-an' them biskits!
Never seen sich big, nice, saft-lookin'
biskits-mind I tell ye."
"I'm allus used to maxim biskits
thai away" said the widow, "'causc
me an Clementyne don't ary one
much like crus'."
"Ner me, neither" said Uncle Tip.
''Now," said Mrs. Plummins at last,
as she sat the cofee-pot down on the
hearth, "hit's mighty near time fer the
young folks to be polin' along home.
I'll fix the gravy, an then I reckon
you kin dish up when they git yere,
an I'll be getting back"
Uncle Tips air of pleased animation
vanished. and he groaned more dis
mally than he had before the widow
rescued him from his troubles.
"Aunt Dorcas," said he, 81 wisht
ye wouldn't go fore supper-an' I
wisht ye wouldn't go after supper
on fur as that goes, I wisht ye wouldn't
go at all, l do fer shore. Look a-here,
Aunt Dorcas, the little man continued
to rush on, as i, having given express
sion to his feelings, he was unable to
coutrol them, "I amt never ast no.
buddy to hev me sence pore Pamely
died; not but whut I've lowed some
times at I'd kinder like to, N I hev
sort O. cast eye at Clementyne oncet
in awhile, but 'peared like es ef one
thing another 'ud keep a-happenin' to
spile it. Ever time I'd fix fer it
somethin' 'ud up an knock it in the
head; I couldn't never git half o
ehaince to see her, an looked like I
never would. But after all, I reckon
Clementyne's leetle too young fer
me. Now=you an me is purity closet
of age; pears to me like es ef we
was plum suited to one another. 1
know there couldn't no one suit me so
good a-makin' biskits, an no one
wouldn't chop kin'lin's an pack water
ter you cheerfuller'n whut I would.
'Sposin' we's to jine hans fer good,
me an you-will We, Dorcas?"
"Well," said Aunt Dorcas, with due
deliberation, "bein' es you're so
handy at gittin' kin'lin' an the like,
an we both take to the same kind of
biskits, an' my cookin' seems to suit
you SO good, I mout think of it."
! Uncle Tip hoped foot high in his
delight, and then caught the stout
widow around the waist.
"Looky yere, Dorcas," said he,
"don't go an spile it by thinkin' about
it. Let's light right out over to the
minister's yander an be all fixed tine
the gals gifts back. somethin'll hen
der shore, eff we put it off, mind I tell
you. Amt I told ye how couldn't
even git no courtin' done? An
things'll git crossways somehow, eff
we wait a minute, I most know.
Come, let's run right over"
"But Clementyne," demurred the
widow. "She'll git home from the
picnic an be skeered to not find no
one there
"She'll hev to pass right by the
parsonage on her way" said Uncle
Tip, San ef we don't see her our
selves, we'll get 'em to watch fer hel