‘Wall,’ said he, helping himself to a chew of tobacco, ’we ve tried thet.  Gin ’em t’everybody we know but there ain’t folks enough’ there’s such a slew o’them bilers.  We could give one if ev’ry man, woman an’ child in Faraway an’ hex enough left t’fill an acre lot.  Dan Perry druv in t’other day with a double buggy.  We gin him one fer his own fam’ly.  It was heavy t’carry an’ he didn’t seem t’ like the looks uv it someway.  Then I asked him if he wouldn’t like one fer his girl.  “She ain’t married,” says he.  “She will be some time,” says I, “take it along,” so he put in another.  “You’ve got a sister over on the turnpike hain’t ye?” says I.  “Yes,” says he.  “Wall,” I says, “don’ want a hex her feel slighted.”  “She won’t know ‘bout my hevin’ ’em,” says he, lookin’ ’s if he’d hed enough.  “Yis she will,” I says, “she’ll hear uv it an’ mebbe make a fuss.”  Then we piled in another.  “Look here,” I says after that, “there s yer brother Bill up there ’bove you.  Take one along fer him.”  “No,” says he, “I don’ tell ev’ry body, but Bill an’ I ain’t on good terms.  We ain’t spoke fer more’n a year.”

‘Knew he was lyin’,’ Uncle Eb added with a laugh, ’I’d seen him talkin’ with Bill a day er two before.

‘Whew!’ he whistled as he looked at his big silver watch.  ’I declare it’s mos’ one o clock They’s jes’ one other piece o’ business if come before this meetin’.  Double or single, want ye if both promise me t’be hum Crissmus.

We promised.

‘Now childern,’ said he. ‘’S time if go if bed.  B’lieve ye’d stan’ there swappin’ kisses ’till ye was knee sprung if I didn’t tell ye t’ quit.

Hope came and put her arms about his neck, fondly, and kissed him good-night.

‘Did Bill prance right up like a man?’ he asked, his hand upon her shoulder.

‘Did very well,’ said she, smiling, ’for a man with a wooden leg.

Uncle Eb sank into a chair, laughing heartily, and pounding his knee.  It seemed he had told her that I was coming home with a wooden leg!  ‘That is the reason I held your arm,’ she said.  ’I was expecting to hear it squeak every moment as we left the depot.  But when I saw that you walked so naturally I knew Uncle Eb had been trying to fool me.

‘Purty good sort uv a lover, ain’t he?’ said he after we were done laughing.

‘He wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ she answered.

‘He was alwuss a gritty cuss,’ said Uncle Eb, wiping his eyes with a big red handkerchief as he rose to go.  ’Ye’d oughter be mighty happy an’ ye will, too — their am’no doubt uv it — not a bit.  Trouble with most young folks is they wan’if fly tew high, these days.  If they’d only fly clus enough t’the ground so the could alwuss touch one foot, they’d be all right.  Glad ye ain’t thet kind.

We were off early on the boat — as fine a summer morning as ever dawned.  What with the grandeur of the scenery and the sublimity of our happiness it was a delightful journey we had that day.  I felt the peace and beauty of the fields, the majesty of the mirrored cliffs and mountains, but the fair face of her I loved was enough for me.  Most of the day Uncle Eb sat near us and I remember a woman evangelist came and took a seat beside him, awhile, talking volubly of the scene.