Yes, that ol’ oak was religiously planted, an’ we’ve tried not to offend its first principles in no ways du’in’ the years we’ve nurtured it.

An’ when I set here an’ look at it, an’ consider its propensities,—­it’s got five limbs that seem thess constructed to hold swings,—­maybe it’s ‘cause I was raised Presbyterian an’ sort o’ can’t git shet o’ the doctrine o’ predestination, but I can’t help seemin’ to fo’-see them friendly family limbs all fulfillin’ their promises.

An’ when I imagine myself a-settin’ there with one little one a-climbin’ over me while the rest swings away, why, seem like a person don’t no mo’ ‘n realize he’s a descendant befo’ he’s a’ ancestor.