Then, agin, some is made fer _lovin_'-- I don' say fer lovin' mo'n one man to er time; fer ther ain't no good 'ooman ever did thet.

But some is made fer _lovin_'.

They sech er heap o' no 'count folks in ther worl', hit do seem like a shame when one o' them sort don' love nobody, an' won't let nobody love them!" Mary Ellen was silent.

She could not quite say the word to stop the old servant's garrulity, and the latter went on.
"Whut I does say, Miss Ma'y Ellen," she resumed, earnestly looking into the girl's face as though to carry conviction with her speech--"whut I does say, an' I says hit fer yo' own good, is this; Mas' Henry, he's daid! He's daid an' buh'ied, an' flowehs growin' oveh his grave, yeahs 'n yeahs.

An' you never wuz mahied toe him.