"Why, mother!" ses all of ’em, "to say stockins rite afore—"
Then I felt a little streaked too, cause they was all blushin as hard as they could.
"Highty-tity!" ses the old lady—"what monstrous finement. I’d like to know what harm ther is in stockins. People nowadays is gittin so mealy-mouthed they can’t call nothin by its rite name, and I don’t see as they's any better than the oldtime people was. When I was a gall like you, child, I used to hang up my stockins and git ’em full of presents."
The galls kep laughin.
"Never mind," ses Miss Mary, "Majer's got to give me a Crismus gift,—won’t you, Majer? "
"Oh, yes," ses I; "you know I promised you one."
"But I didn't mean that" ses she.
"I’ve got one for you, what I want you to keep all your life, but it would take a two-bushel bag to hold it," ses I.
"Oh, that's the kind," ses she.
"But will you keep it as long as you live?" ses I.
"Certainly, I will, Majer."
"Monstrous ’finement nowadays—old people don’t know nothin bout perliteness," said old Miss Stallins, jest gwine to sleep with her nittin in her hand.
"Now you hear that, Miss Carline," ses I. "She ses she'll keep it all her life."
"Yes, I will," ses Miss Mary—"but what is it?"
"Never mind," ses I, "you hang up a bag big enuff to hold it and you'll find out what it is, when you see it in the mornin."
Miss Carline winked at Miss Kesiah, and then whispered to her—then they both laughed and looked at me as mischievous as they could. They spicioned something.
"You'll be sure to give it to me now, if I hang up a bag?" ses Miss Mary.
