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"I traipse 'roun' this hill ontell I'm that wore out I kin skacely drag one foot alrter t'other, an' I don't never hear nobody up an' ast what ails me. It's Sis, Sis, Sis, all the time, an' eternally. Ef the calf's fat, the ole cow ain't got much choice betwixt the quogmire an' the tan-vat." "Lord, how you do run on," said the iron-grey giant, rubbing his knuckles together sheepishly.
"W'iles I wuz crossin' de branch des now," he said, endeavoring to change the subject, "I come up wid a Jacky-my-lantern, en she wuz bu'nin' wuss'n a bunch er lightnin'-bugs, mon. I know'd she wuz a fixin' fer ter lead me inter dat quogmire down in de swamp, en I steer'd cle'r an' er. Yasser. I did dat. You ain't never seed no Jacky-my-lanterns, is you, honey?"
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