he'un's

Updated: July 3, 2025

Then he gave a puckering hitch to his underlip and deposited in the sand, with a puddling plunk, the half cup of tobacco juice that had closed up his mouth. He stepped back and said very sternly: "Whoa, Ben Butler!" "Why, he'un's sleep a'ready," grinned Bud.

John Trotwood Moore - The Bishop of Cottontown: A Story of the Southern Cotton Mills