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Updated: June 23, 2025
I can't tell you how good it makes me feel in this city of sin to come across a square man like yourself what do you say to a bottle of wine? "'Ya-a-as, says I. With life ripplin' along like this I was endorsin' the whole time-table. "Wine is a mawker. The first small glass of it hadn't gone whistlin' down afore she begun to mawk me.
And down a little ways from the house there's a cool springhouse, with clear, cold water wellin' up and ripplin' out over the clean, white sand, with crocks o' fresh milk setting in it with cream half an inch thick, and big jars o' buttermilk from the last churnin', and piggins o' fresh butter, and mebbe a big crock full o' smearkase. Si, do you like smearkase?"
"Dunno, honey, but I hear de Master callin', an' I's ready to follow whereber He leads; eben down into de valley ob de shadow ob death. I's close to de riber; Is hear de soun' ob de wattahs ripplin' pas'; but de eberlastin' arms is underneath, an' I sho' to git safe ober to de oder side." "Yes, dear mammy, I know you will," Elsie answered in moved tones.
"The horses o' Kansas are behind me with their multitoodinous thunderin' hooves, an' we say, simply but grandly, that we take our stand with all four feet on the inalienable rights of the horse, pure and simple, the high-toned child o' nature, fed by the same wavin' grass, cooled by the same ripplin' brook yes, an' warmed by the same gen'rous sun as falls impartially on the outside an' the inside of the pampered machine o' the trottin'-track, or the bloated coupe-horses o' these yere Eastern cities.
"The horses o' Kansas are behind me with their multitoodinous thunderin' hooves, an' we say, simply but grandly, that we take our stand with all four feet on the inalienable rights of the horse, pure and simple, the high-toned child o' nature, fed by the same wavin' grass, cooled by the same ripplin' brook yes, an' warmed by the same gen'rous sun as falls impartially on the outside an' the inside of the pampered machine o' the trottin'-track, or the bloated coupe-horses o' these yere Eastern cities.
"But you're certain Miss Hampton is the one, are you?" says she. "If she wa'n't," says I, "why should he keep the folder?" "That's so," says Vee. "Then then shall we do it?" "I'm game if you are," says I. "All right," says she, and I hears one of them ripplin' laughs of hers comin' over the wire. "It's to-morrow at half after three, you know." "I'll be on hand," says I.
De simple child o' nature had better chase himself inter de water. Every man at de end of his lines is mad or loaded or silly, an' de cop's madder an' loadeder an' sillier than de rest. Dey all take it outer de horses. Dere's no wavin' brooks ner ripplin' grass on de Belt Line. Run her out on de cobbles wid de sparks flyin', an' stop when de cop slugs you on de bone o' yer nose. Dat's N'York; see?
An', Tuck, waal, you're a mare anyways but when a horse comes along an' covers up all his talk o' killin' with ripplin' brooks, an wavin grass, an' eight quarts of oats a day free, after killn' his man, don't you be run away with by his yap. You're too young an' too nervous."
Are we not the same flesh an' blood?" "Not by a bushel an' a half," said the Deacon, under his breath. "Grandee never was in Kansas." "My! Ain't that elegant, though, abaout the wavin' grass an' the ripplin' brooks?" Tuck whispered in Nip's ear. "The gentleman's real convincin' I think." "I say we are the same flesh an' blood!
Well, anon as we clumb a hill, the hull lake bust out on our vision, it lay spread out broad and beautiful and calm, with the breezes ripplin' its blue surface into waves, and the sunshine sparkling on its bosom, and down under the hill on a pint of land that stretched out into the water stood the noble grove of trees where the camp meetin' wuz held. That wuz Piller Pint.
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