An' in th' winter time when Jim war a-makin' dish shelves an' a-puttin' some new splits inter th' bottoms uv them ole chiers his daddy give him, Becky war a-peecin' quilts an' a-spinnin' cloth fer dresses. Waal, in th' spring they war married an' went ter live in ther house on th' side uv th' mounting, out'n no neighbors, 'ceptin' me, fer a mile or more down th' cove. Thet war th' spring I war tuck so bad with this misery in my back an' afore summer I war so cript up I warn't no 'count whatever. One mornin' jes' ez I war a gettin' up from afore the fire whar I hed been a-eatin' a snack uv breakfast, Becky walked in, lookin' ez fresh ez a fiel' uv early corn, and sez: “Uncle Duke, I 'lowed I'd come in an' see how you war an' rid up a leetle fur yer.” I h'ant never been used ter wimen folks, an' I could'nt git th' consent uv my mind ter set by an' see every thin' pot out'n its nat'ral place, so I reched my stick an' out'n sayin' nothin' I riz up an' went out under th' big gum tree. It warn't long afore Becky kem out with her bucket on her arm, an' sez: “Good-bye, Uncle Duke. I reckon I'll be a-gittin' along ter th' berry patch yan-der.” I sed, “Thank yer, Becky. Don't yer come no more ter tend ter me. I 'low you's got a plenty ter do 'out'n a-doin' thet.” Yer see, I didn't want ter be pestered with her fixin', yit she was so obleegin' ter everybody I didn't want ter 'fend her by axin' her ter stay ter hum. Waal, when I went in an' seed how piert things looked, I jes' wished I'd a-kep' my pipe in my mouth 'stead uv a-jawin' her. Spite uv my sayin' time an' ag'in fer her ter rest when her own work war done, she kep' a-comin'. I 'lowed she seed how much I enjoyed havin' things liken white folks lived in the house. I 'low she war jes' ez bright an' happy thet year ez enny woman in the cove ez hed a plenty. An' summer an' winter she 'peared ter be always a-workin'. Waal in th' middle uv March leetle Jim kem, and I reckon thar warn't no two happier people in th' world. They war proud uv thet baby, an' no mistake. The fust time I seed Becky arter it war born, she pulled a leetle hand out'n from under th' kiver an' sez: “Uncle Duke, some day thet leetle han'll chop wood fur his mammy.” Waal, it did'nt look much like handlin' an axe thin. Thet summer she use ter roll th' baby up in her daddie's ole army blanket an' take it with her berry pickin' an' peddlin' an' everywhars; it 'peared like she didn't think its weight nothin', un' she'd go 'long th' road talkin' ter it like ez ef a baby four months ole knowed ennythin'. With th' money from her berries she bought th' winter clothes--mostely things fur th' baby an' flannel shirts fur her man--'peared like she thought th' cold wouldn't tech her.