"Was you gwine to kill him?" Loorany asked.
"Well, sorter that away, I reckon."
"Did you have the notion that I 'd marry you atterwards?"
"I wa'n't a-gwine to ax you," said John Wesley.
"Will you take me now, jest as I am?"
"Why, I reckon," he replied, in a matter-of-fact tone.
So they went home and left other people to look after Hildreth of Hall.
In course of time a boy was born to Loorany Millirons, and the event made her husband a widower, but the child was never known by any other name than that of Toog Parmalee—and Toog was the chap that shot his sweetheart.
All these things, as Mrs. Pruett said, were the cause of the difficulty you read about in the newspapers the other day. "Thribble the generations," she added, "an' sin's arm is long enough to retch through 'em all."
