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I didn't see no partic'lar use in lightin' the candles myself, bein' ez we didn't need 'em to see by, an' shorely the good Lord thet can speak out a sun any time he needs a extry taper couldn't be said to take no pleasure in a Simpkinsville home-dipped candle. But the way I look at it, seem like ef some wants em, why not?
They can stand on the sho'e, an' I'll be jest ez likely to know it ez them thet lay in view lookin' so ca'm. I've done give him my orders, though they ain't much danger o' me dyin' at sea, not ef we stay in Simpkinsville. "How much are them willer rockers, Mr. Lawson? I declare that one favors my old man ez it sets there, even without him in it. Nine dollars?
"Frances 'lowed to kill me out to-day, but I lay when she sets eyes on de yaller-winged butterfly she'll 'preciate de resurrection o' de dead ef she never done it befo' in her life." Part I Time: Daylight, the day before Christmas. Place: Rowton's store, Simpkinsville. First Monologue, by Mr. Trimble: "Whoa-a-a, there, ck, ck, ck! Back, now, Jinny! Hello, Rowton!
Her good neighbors and friends, even as far as Simpkinsville and Washington, had their little jokes over Mis' Trimble's giving her splendor-despising husband a swinging ice-pitcher, but they never knew of the two early trips of the twin pitcher, nor of the midnight comedy in the Trimble home.
"You say this pitcher wasn't there when she was here no, for ef it had 'a' been, I know she'd 'a' took on over it. Th' ain't never been one for sale in Simpkinsville before. They've been several of 'em brought here by families besides the one old Mis' Meredy presided over though that was one o' the first. But wife is forever a-pickin' out purty patterns of 'em in the catalogues.
"You ricollec' ol' Mis' Meredy, she used to preside over one thet they had, an' somehow he taken a distaste to her an' to ice-pitchers along with her, an' he don't never lose a chance to express his disgust. When them new folks was in town last year projec'in' about the railroad, he says to me, 'I hope they won't stay, they'd never suit Simpkinsville on earth.
Ezra Slimm was a widower of nearly a year, and, as a consequence, was in a state of mind not unusual in like circumstances. True, the said state of mind had not in his case manifested itself in the toilet bloomings, friskiness of demeanor, and protestations of youth renewed which had characterized the first signs of the same in the usual run of Simpkinsville widowers up to date.
She allows thet pigs is raised, an' potaters, an' even chickens; an' she said, one day, thet ef I insisted on "raisin'" child'en, she'd raise a row. She's a quick hand to turn a joke, Miss Phoebe is. Nobody thet ever lived in Simpkinsville would claim thet rows couldn't be raised, I'm shore, after all the fuss thet's been made over puttin' daytime candles in our 'piscopal church.
"My old man started off this mornin' befo' day, an' soon ez he got out o' sight down the Simpkinsville road, I struck out for Washin'ton, an' here I am. He thinks I'm home seedin' raisins. He was out by starlight this mornin' with the big wagon, an', of co'se, I know what that means.
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