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“Glory must git better, nothin’s no fun no more,” blurted Moses. “None of your nonsense,” replied the long-limbed pedestrian, his thankyou’s cut short by Moses’ cheerfulness. “Moses, ef you hev finished yer supper, change yer good clothes an’ go git the cows,” directed his mother. “Betty run an’ fasten up the hens, else the coyotes’ll git them.”.
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“O Billy!” Jean gasped, fear for the little, delicate girl in that eery place lending sympathy to her voice. “Jist hold on there, Mose, we wanter play a game of checkers on yer pants.” At this jibe Moses turned and held up a clenched fist as warning of a potential thrashing which the boys knew would never materialize. Moses was slow to active wrath. Jenny, my own true loved one “Come, Jethro, Betty’ll carry her li’l white puppykins, pore li’l footsy’s so sore.”.
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