nin' fur the Legislatur at our door. He hired bullies ter
git inter a quarrel with David, at public getherin's, an' kill him in
sech a way ez ter have a plea o' self-defense ter cla'r themselves on,
but David tuck too good keer o' hisself ter git ketched that a-way, an'
he hurt one o' the bullies so bad thet he niver quite got over hit. He
an' Kunnel Pennington leveled ther weepons on each other at a barbecue
near London last Fall, but the bystanders interfered, an' prevented
bloodshed fur a time."

"When the war broke out, we never believed hit would reach us. Thar mout
be trouble in Louisville and Cincinnati--some even thought hit likely
that thar would be fouten' in Lexington--but way up in the mountings
we'd be peaceable an' safe allers. Our young men formed theirselves
inter a company o' Home Gyards, an' elected my husband their Capting.
Kunnel Pennington gathered together 'bout a hundred o' the poorest,
orneriest shakes on the headwaters, an' tuck them off ter jine Sidney
Johnson, an' drive the Yankees 'way from Louisville. Everybody said hit
wuz the best riddance o' bad rubbish the country 'd ever knowed, and
when they wuz gone our chances fur peace seemed better'n ever.

"All the flurry made by ther gwine 'way hed died down, an' ez we heered
nothin' from 'em, or the war, people's minds got quiet ag'in, an' they
sot 'bout hurryin' up their Spring work.

"One bright, sweet mornin' in May, I wuz at my work in the yard with
Fortner--thet wuz my son's name--fixin' up the kittles ter dye some yarn
fur a coat fur him. Husband 'd went ter the other side o' the hill, whar
the new terbacker ground wuz, ter cut out some trees that shaded the
plants. The skies wuz ez bright an' fa'r ez the good Lord ever made 'em.
I could heah the ringin' o' David's ax, ez he chopped away, an'h hit
seemed ter be sayin' ter me cheefully all the time: 'Heah I am--hard at
work.' The smoke from some brush-piles that he'd sot afire riz up slowly
an' gently, fur thar wuz no wind a-stirring. The birds sung gayly 'bout
their work o' nest-buildin', an' I couldn't help singin' about mine. I
left the kittles fur a minnit ter run down the gyardin walk, ter see how
my bed o' pinks wuz comin' out, an' I sung ez I run.

"Jest then a passel o' men come stringin' up the road ter the bars. They
looked like some o' them that Kunnel Pennington tuck 'way with him,
but they rid better critters then any o' them ever hed, an' they were
dressed in a sorter solje