what I was, but of co'se
hers wasn't so much book statistics.

She could give the name an' age of every cow an' calf on the farm, an'
relate any circumstance thet has took place within her recollection or
mine without the loss of a single date or any gain through imagination,
either.

I don't know but I think that's a greater gif' than the other, to be
able to reproduce a event after a long time without sort o' thess
techin' it up with a little exaggeration.

Th' ain't no finer trait, in my opinion, _in man or woman_, than
dependableness, an' that's another reason I take sech special delight in
the little daughter, Mary Elizabeth.

If she tells you a thing's black, why you may know it don't lean todes
brown or gray. It's thess a dismal black.

She may hate to say it, an' show her hatred in a dozen lovin', regretful
ways, but out it'll come.

An' I think thet any man thet can count on a devoted wife for
_exactitude_ is blessed beyond common.

So many exac' women is col'-breasted an' severe. An' ef I had to take
one or the other, why, I'd let my wife prevaricate a little, ef need
be, befo' I'd relinquish warmheartedness, an' the power to command
peacefulness an' rest, an' make things comfortable an' homely, day in
an' day out.

Maybe I'm unprincipled in that, but life is so short, an' ef we didn't
have lovin' ways to lengthen out our days, why I don't think I'd keer to
bother with it, less'n, of co'se, I might be needful to somebody else.

Yas, doc', I 'm mighty happy in the little daughter--an' the book--an'
the blessed boy hisself. Maybe I'm too talkative on the subject, but the
way I feel about him, I might discuss him forever, an' then they'd be
thess a little sweetness left over thet I couldn't put into words about
him.

Not thet he's faultless. I don't suppose they ever was a boy on earth
thet had mo' faults 'n Sonny, but they ain't one he's got thet I don't
seem to cherish because I know it's rooted in honest soil.

You may strike a weed now an' ag'in, but he don't grow no pizen vines in
his little wilderness o' short-comin's. Th' ain't no nettles in his
garden o' faults. That ain't a bad figgur o' speech for a ol' man like
me, is it, doctor?

But nex' time he stops an' tells you I'm sick, you thess tell him to go
about his business.

I'm failin' in stren'th ez the days go--an' I know it--an' it's all
right.

I don't ask no mo' 'n thess to pass on whenever the good Lord wills.

But of co'se I