a rite pretty gall, and to people as ain't used to it, it goes monstrous hard, don't it? They say widders don't mind it no more'n nothin. But I'm makin a transgression, as the preacher ses.
Crismus eve I put on my new suit, and shaved my face as slick as a smoothin iron, and after tea went over to old Miss Stallinses. As soon as I went into the parler whar they was all settin round the fire, Miss Carline and Miss Kesiah both laughed rite out.
"There, there," ses they, "I told you so, I knew it would be Joseph."
"What's I done, Miss Carline?" ses I.
"You come under little sister's chicken bone, and I do blieve she knew you was comin when she put it over the dore."
"No, I didn't—I didn't no such thing, now," ses Miss Mary, and her face blushed red all over.
"Oh, you need n't deny it," ses Miss Kesiah; "you b'long to Joseph now, jest as sure as ther's any charm in chicken bones."
I know'd that was a first-rate chance to say something, but the dear little creater looked so sorry and kep blushin so, I couldn't say nothin zactly to the pint, so I tuck a chair and reached up and tuck down the bone and put it in my pocket.
"What are you gwine to do with that old bone now, Majer?" ses Miss Mary.
"I'm gwine to keep it as long as I live," ses I, "as a Crismus present from the handsomest gall in Georgia."
When I sed that, she blushed worse and worse.
"Ain't you shamed, Majer?" ses she.
"Now you ought to give her a Crismus gift, Joseph, to keep all her life," sed Miss Carline.
"Ah," ses old Miss Stallins, "when I was a gall we used to hang up our stockins—"
