"
August 10th.--The English Church minister called one day
to see Arthur. He read some of the Bible to us and then
he gave us a dandy prayer. He didn't make it--it was a
bot one.
There's wild parsley down on the crik. Mrs. M. sed't wuz
poison, but I wanted to be sure, so I et it, and it isn't.
There's wild sage all over, purple an lovely. I pickt a
big lot ov it, to taik home--we mite have a turkey this
winter.
August 11th.--I hope tom's happy; it's offel to be in
love. I hope I'll never be.
My hands are pretty sore pullin' weeds, but I like it;
I pertend it's bad habits I'm rootin' out.
Arthur's offel good: he duz all the work he can for me,
and he sings for me and tells me about his uncle the
Bishop. His uncle's got servants and leggin's and lots
of things. Arthur's been kind of sick lately.
I made verses one day, there not very nice, but there
true--I saw it:
The little lams are beautiful,
There cotes are soft and nice,
The little calves have ringworm,
And the 2-year olds have lice!
Now I'm going' to make more; it seems to bad to leve it
like that.
It must be very nasty,
But to worrie, what's the use;
Better be cam and cheerfull,
And appli tobaka jooce.
Sometimes I feal like gittin' lonesum but I jist keep
puttin' it of. I say to myself I won't git lonesum till
I git this cow milked, and then I say o shaw I might as
well do another, and then I say I won't git lonesum till
I git the pails washed and the flore scrubbed, and I keep
settin' it of and settin' it of till I forgit I was goin'
to be.
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