Have you marked how skeery Mr.Mullen has growed about meetin' my eyes over the rail of the pulpit?
Why, 'twas only yesterday that I brought my guns to bear on the resurrection of the body, an' blowed it to atoms in his presence.

'Now thar's Reuben Merryweather who buried one leg at Manassas, Mr.Mullen,' I said as pleasant an' natchel as if I warn't about to confound him, 'an' what I'd like to have made clear an' easy to me, suh, is what use the Almighty is goin' to make of that odd leg on the Day of Jedgment?
Will he add a new one onto Reuben,' I axed, 'when, as plain as logic will have it, it won't be a resurrection, but a creation, or will he start that leg a-trampin' by itself all the way from Manassas to jine the other at Old Church ?' The parson had been holdin' pretty free all the mornin' with nobody daring to contradict him, and a man more taken aback by the power of logic my sight never lit on.

'Spare me, Mr.Doolittle,' was all he said, never a word mo'.

'Spare me, Mr.Doolittle.'" "Ah, a tough customer you are," commented Solomon, "an' what answer did you make to that, suh ?" Old Adam's pipe returned to his mouth, and he puffed slowly a minute.
"'Twas a cry for mercy, Solomon, so I spared him," he responded.
The wagon had reached the well, and without stopping, the large white-and-red oxen moved on into the turnpike.

Bending from her high seat, Molly Merryweather smiled at the miller, who made a single stride toward her.