Uncle Reubin: “Well, I didn’ say what sort she put on; mout erbin crows-foot, spechly ef’n de fros’ had kilt de fig leaves, er it mout erbin Firginny Creeper, er she mout uh rap hersef in clusters ub grapevines; we all no dar wan’ no fashion in _dem days_. “De Bible say: ‘Ez in water de face anserreth ter face, so de hart ub man ter man;’ so de water wuz Miss Eve’s lookin’ glass, dat’s what it mean; an’ all dat watah wuz fresh; de consequation wuz, da wuz no shirks in it.” Jim Brooks, from Queen Anne’s County: “I rid 20 miles ter heah dis ’bate, an’ I wan’ ter no what watah got ter do wid it. Ev’body seems ter hab fogot de shirks.” Uncle Reubin: “I has jes’ ’cited uh vus fum Sams, an’ I will ’cite an nerr fum Proberbs: ‘Tho’ thou shouldst bray uh fool in uh morter ’mong wheat wid uh pessal, yet will not his foolishness depart fum him.’ Why, Brer Brooks, ef’n it hadn’ bin fuh watah de twelve Petracks mout neber bin bo’n. De narration say dat Mars Jacob met Miss Rachael at de well, an’ ef’n de well had uh bin dry he mout neber hab met de mudder ub de Petracks. “Now, what wud dat gyarden bin ’dout plenty watah? Dey wud uh lef’ it, an’ got an nerr gyarden; fuh not only Mars Adum an’ Miss Eve baved in dat Paradice watah, but de seeds an’ de vegetables sipped it, de flowers when deah faces got dusty, washed in it, de cups ub de blossoms hilt it, I specks, till de watah tu’n inter perfume, an’ I kin almos’ see de jewdraps hangin’ on ev’y leaf, mo’ lubly dan uh oyster pearl. It makes Uncle Reubin glad when he looks at watah, fuh it tu’ns our mills, gibs us cawn bred, brings de big schooners wid our boots, shoes, clothes an’ mullasses, an’ when de tide comes in, ’specially at sundown, when de birds is goin’ ter deah nesses, an’ de busy bees is wanderin’ home, da is nuffin I lubs mo’ ter look at, it’s so quiet an’ repose. No place kin be lonely ef’n watah is da; but it’s uh sad thing, too, fuh what is mo’ ’stressin’ dan eyes full ub tears. But mos’ ub all, young people ub dis chuch don’ fogit dat watah wash yo’ sins uh way, an’ meck you ez white ez de lam’. But I am condident da is only one kind fit fuh ’mersion, an’ dat’s fresh watah.” Sister Sue: “Dat’s it; now yo’r climin’ dem golden stairs, Brer Viney!” Sally Mink: “Blessid be his brow, he’s fairly chantin’ de songs ub de Sams.” Mrs. Rodgers’ Ned: “I is convicted, Brer Viney, an’ I plays de fiddle no mo’!”