It went through Sam'el Anderson and Abig'il, and picked out the leetle weak pompous things in the illustrious father; and then hunted out all the spiteful and hateful things in the lovin' and much-esteemed mother, and somehow stuck 'em together, to make as ornery a chap as ever bit a hoe-cake in two." "I'm afeard her brother's scrape and comin' home won't make Jule none the peacefuller at the present time," said Cynthy Ann.
"Wal," returned Jonas, "I don't think she keers much fer him.

She couldn't, you know.

Love him?
Now, Cynthy Ann, my dear"-- here Cynthy Ann began to reproach herself for listening to anything so pleasant as these two last words--"Now, Cynthy Ann, my dear, you see you might maybe love a cuckle-burr and nuss it; but I don't think you would be likely to.

I never heern tell of nobody carryin' jimson-weed pods in their bosoms.

You see they a'n't no place about Norman Anderson that love could take a holt of 'thout gittin' scratched." "But his mother loves him, I reckon," said Cynthy Ann.
"Wal, yes; so she do.