"You weren't going to have your cider 'n tobacco cut off, even in the interests of Heredity—eh, Teeters?"
"You bet not. 'S no use bein' a fanatic on no subjec',—but I'm afar-minded feller an' becaze I didn't 'gree with 'em 'bout cider 'n so on I did n't go back on hered'ty, not by no manner o' means."
"Did you ever meet up with any striking case of it,—anything to back up your theory, so to speak?" queried the cruiser, with a side look at us.
"Plenty of 'em,—the woods is full of 'em, but the clearest case of hered'ty I ever see was Old Sanctuary's dä'ter,—ever hear me tell about her?"
"Seems to me I've heard you mention her,—but these gentlemen,—perhaps they would like to hear the story?"
With one voice we expressed our desire to hear it, and Old Teeters proceeded.
Old Sanctuary lived neighbor to us
when we fust staked out our claim here, an' 'e lived by us tell he passed in 'is checks. He was by all odds the orneriest cuss the sun ever shone down on. I used frequent to study about his meanness, an' fin'ly I figured out thet the Creator jest lumped up all the low-down meanness 't He 'd trimmed off of ever' other critter He'd made, 'n made 'em up into one man, an' sent 'im down to earth 'n order to be ready fer duty in case anythink happened to Satan,—an thet that ar man was Cephas Sanctuary. Ef you could single out two from the pile of meanness 't he hed a corner on, as bein' a leetle wuss 'n all the balance, them two was his cruelty an' his good 'pinion of 'isself. Ef he'd been a Texan or an old-time Cal'fornian, an'
hed n't ben the blamed coward 't he wuz, he 'd a made an A-Number i foot-pad or desp'rado of some sort; but bein'
a mossback from way back, he contented
hisself with abusin' all them as came
nat'rally in 'is way sech as 'is woman
an 'is kids, an' the animals on 'is ranch.
Folks used ter say 't they 'd 's soon die
an' go to torment direct's to be one o'
Ceph Sanctuary's dumb critters. How
he ever come to get 'er 's more'n I was
ever able to figger out, but his woman
was one of the nicest-mannered, soft-spoken women I ever see, and she was purty as a picter. She hed soft goldeny hair 't looked like sea-waves with the sun shinin' on 'em, an' her skin fer all the world like the inside o' them big shells, pink an' white all runnin' into
each other like, an' 'er eyes was blue 's
the sky, an' whenever she'd look at ye,
you felt jest like she loved you better'n
anybody ; an' 'er voice sounded like
water runnin' over moss-covered stuns.
She was good as she looked, too, an' not
a sick or sufferin' critter fer miles
aroun' but what loved the very groun'
she walked on.
A purty life she led with old Sanctuary—you bet—an' she growed so thin an' pale 't ever'body said 't she'd lay in 'er grave fust notwithstan'in' thet Sanctuary was old enough to be 'er father. But fer oncet Prov'dunce swung roun' to the side of the good an' the downtrodden.
[" Is not Providence always on that side ? "]
Not much 't ain't. It 's giner'ly the weak an' pious as goes to the wall, an' the ornery as thrives best in this world. I don't say how 't is in the next thet's a kentry I aint ben prospectin' in yit. But 's I was sayin' Prov'dunce tuk the right side in this case, 'n let Sanctuary git 'is brains knocked out by means of a kickin' mule 't he was abusin' at th' time.
Arter thet the pore woman might 'ave hed some peace 'f 't hadn't ben fer her da'ter Betty. Betty was as like her maw in looks as two pea-blossoms on one stalk, but purtier ef anythink. Seemed like she did n't worry none over nobody but 'erself, an' so all her stren'th went to help on 'er good looks.
