I knowd that was a first-rate chance to say something, but the dear little creater looked so sorry and kep’ blushin’ so, I couldn’t say nothin’ zactly to the pint, so I tuck a chair and reached up and tuck down the bone and put it in my pocket. “What are you gwine to do with that old bone now, Majer?” ses Miss Mary. “I’m gwine to keep it as long as I live,” ses I, “as a Crismus present from the handsomest gall in Georgia.” When I sed that, she blushed worse and worse. “Ain’t you shamed, Majer?” ses she. “Now you ought to give _her_ a Crismus gift, Joseph, to keep all _her_ life,” sed Miss Carline. “Ah,” ses old Miss Stallins, “when I was a gall we used to hang up our stockins—” “Why, mother!” ses all of ’em, “to say stockins rite afore—” Then I felt a little streaked too, ’cause they was blushin’ as hard as they could. “Highty-tity!” ses the old lady, “what monstrous finement. I’d like to know what harm ther is in stockins. People now-a-days is gittin’ so mealy-mouthed they can’t call nothin’ by its rite name, and I don’t see as they’s any better than the old time people was. When I was a gall like you, child, I use to hang up my stockins and git ’em full of presents.” The gals kep laughin’. “Never mind,” ses Miss Mary, “Majer’s got to give me a Crismus gift—won’t you, Majer?” “Oh, yes,” ses I, “you know I promised you one.” “But I didn’t mean _that_,” ses she. “I’ve got one for you, what I want you to keep all your life, but it would take a two-bushel bag to hold it,” ses I. “Oh, that’s the kind,” ses she. “But will you keep it as long as you live?” ses I. “Certainly I will, Majer.” “Monstrous ’finement now-a-days—old people don’t know nothin’ ’bout perliteness,” said old Miss Stallins, jest gwine to sleep with her nittin’ in her hand. “Now you hear that, Miss Carline,” ses I. “She ses she’ll keep it all her life.” “Yes, I will,” ses Miss Mary; “but what is it?” “Never mind,” ses I, “you hang up a bag big enuff to hold it and you’ll find out what it is, when you see it in the mornin’.” Miss Carline winked at Miss Kesiah, and then whispered to her; then they both laughed and looked at me as mischievous as they could. They spicioned something. “You’ll be sure to give it to me now, if I hang up a bag,” ses Miss Mary. “And promise to keep it,” ses I. “Well, I will, cause I know that you wouldn’t give me nothin’ that wasn’t worth keepin’.” They all agreed they would hang up a bag for me to put Miss Mary’s Crismus present in, in the back porch, and ’bout nine o’clock I told ’em good evenin’ and went home.