For these two words are what will apply to his hull family, root and branch, specially the roots. Shiftless, ornary, no account, father and mother both; and bein’ full of shiftless, no account qualities, and bein’ married, what could they do, or be expected to do, but bring into the world a lot of still shiftlesser, no accounter creeters? Inheritin’ shiftlessness, and lazyness, and improvidence on both sides, with their own individual lazyness and no accountness added, what can we expect of these offsprings? But still I see in the case of St. Luke, as in the words of the him I quoted, that there is in education and the wholesome restraints of proper livin’ and trainin’ a hope for them—for the poor blacks and the poor whites, for the poor whites are jest as shiftless, jest as ignorant, and jest as no account. [Illustration: “THE BIG PIAZZA.”] CHAPTER XIII. ONE mornin’ we wuz all a settin’ out on the big piazza, for it wuz a cloudless day, and it wuz exceedingly pleasant out there. Snow wuz a settin’ to one side a playin’ with her little dolly that I had carried down to her—a nice one, with real hair, and very round blue eyes and red cheeks. I bought it at Loontown, at a expense of over seventy-five cents, and dressed it myself, with a little of Philury’s help about the boddist waist. Its dress wuz pink cambrick trimmed heavy with white linen lace—it wuz some I had on a nightcap, but it wuz so firm it had wore the nightcap out. It wuz a very good and amiable-lookin’ doll when we had got it all trimmed off, and Snow thought her eyes on it. She had named it to once Samantha Maggie Tirzah Ann. “After the hull caboodle on us,” as Josiah said; but at my request she called it Dolly. Good land! I thought I never could hear her a goin’ round a talkin’ about Samantha Maggie Tirzah Ann. The idee! It would have been too much for her. Wall, she wuz a settin’ a playin’ with Dolly, and anon sort o’ lookin’ up and talkin’ to somebody she didn’t see. Wuzn’t it queer how she would always do this, and smile confidential at ’em, and wave her little white hand to ’em sometimes, as if in greetin’ or good-bye? Queer, but pretty in her, so I always thought. I wish I knew who she had in her mind when she done it, or if she see anybody or hearn anybody. For once in a while she would sort o’ lift up her little smilin’ face and seem to listen—listen. Wall, she wuz a beautiful child—and every child has its pretty ways and its dretful curius ones, its angel traits and its tuther ones. Bless their sweet hearts, wherever they be! I love the hull on ’em, and can’t help it. Boy wuz a layin’ in his little crib, and Genieve wuz a settin’ by it a mindin’ the child. And my son and daughter, Thomas Jefferson and Maggie, wuz a settin’ near each other (that is where they would always be if they had their own way).