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I've had a touch of rheumaty, and this is the fust I've stirred for two weeks." "Sorry to hear it, Granny. Rheumatism can't be very comfortable." "Well, no; it's bahd for the jints," said the old woman, holding up her fingers, which were as shapeless as knobby potatoes. "Poor Granny! How hard that is!" "Well, they be hard, and kind o' stiff-like. But bless ye," laughed she, "that's nothing.
'Cause thass my natu'e, Mistoo Itchlin; I gatheh honey eve'y day fum eve'y opening floweh, as the bahd of A-von wemawk." So they went on. Ad infinitum? Ah, no!
"But when you are sick, Granny?" "O, then, sometimes I feels bahd, not to be airnin' nothin', and gets some afeard o' the poorhouse; but, bless ye, I can't help thinking the Lord'll keep me out." "I'm pretty sure He will," said Aunt Madge, resolving on the spot that the good old soul never should go to a place she dreaded so much. "Have you any butter-scotch to-day, Granny?"
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