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Updated: June 19, 2025
"He's sparkin' some gal, Miss Sue; dat's what ails him," she said one evening as she knelt on the sitting-room hearth to kindle the first fire of the season. "Dey ain't but two t'ings onder heaben dat'll keep a man f'om eatin'. One's a woman, t' other is lack ob food." Judge Hollis looked over his glasses and smiled. "Who do you think the lady is, Melvy?"
"I nebber said it was Miss Rufe," said Aunt Melvy from the doorway; "but den ag'in I don't say hit ain't." "Well, I hope it's not," said the judge to his wife as he laid down his paper; "though I must say she is as pretty and friendly a girl as I ever saw. No matter how long she stays away, she is always glad to see everybody when she comes back.
"And if I don't know him, it's no sign I am not g-going to." Aunt Melvy chuckled as she rose to encourage the fire with a pair of squeaking old bellows. Martha looked about the room curiously. "Can you really tell what's going to happen?" she asked timidly. "Indeed she can," said Annette.
Before the last cup was filled, Annette, with a wry face, had drained the contents of hers and held it out to Aunt Melvy. "There are my leaves. If they don't tell about a lover with b-blue eyes and an Irish accent, I'll never b-believe them." Aunt Melvy bent over the cup, and her sides shook. "You gwine be a farmer's wife," she said, chuckling at the girl's grimace.
His big, exuberant nature made no distinction: he swept over her, sharp edges and all; he teased her, coaxed her, petted her, laughed at her, turned her tirades with a bit of blarney, and in the end won her in spite of herself. "He's ketchin' on," reported Aunt Melvy, confidently. "I heared him puttin' on airs in his talk. When dey stops talkin' nachel, den I knows dey are learnin' somethin'."
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