's hayed an' watered 'fore yo' come
back. Microby Dandeline, yo' git a pot o' tea abilin' an' fry up a
bate o' bacon, an' cut some bread, an' warm up the rest o' thet pone,
an' yo', Lillian Russell, yo' finish dryin' them dishes an' set 'em
back on the table. An' Abraham Lincoln Wirt, yo' fetch a pail o'
water, an' wrinch out the worsh dish, an' set a piece o' soap by, an'
a clean towel, an' light up the lamp."

Under Ma Watts's volley of orders, issued without pause for breath,
things began to happen with admirable promptitude.

"Land sakes!" cried the woman, as Patty climbed painfully to the
ground, "hain't yo' that sore an' stiff! Yo' must a-rode clean from
town, an' hits fifty mile, an' yo' not use to ridin' neither, to tell
by the whiteness of yo' face. I'll help yo' git off them hat an'
gloves, an' thar sets the worsh dish on the bench beside the do'.
Microby Dandeline 'll hev a bite for ye d'rec'ly an' I'll fix yo' up a
shake-down. Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth kin go out an' crawl in
the hay an' yo' c'n hev theirn." Words flowed from Ma Watts naturally
and continuously without effort, as water flows from a spring. Patty
who had made several unsuccessful attempts to speak, interrupted
abruptly.

"Oh, I couldn't think of depriving the boys of their bed. I----"

"Now, honey, just yo' quit pesterin' 'bout thet. Them young-uns
'druther sleep out'n in, any time. Ef I'd let 'em they'd grow up plumb
wild. When yo've got worshed up come on right in the kitchen an' set
by. Us Wattses is plain folks an' don't pile on no dog. We've et an'
got through, but yo' take all the time yo're a mind to, an' me an'
Microby Dandeline 'll set by an' yo' c'n tell us who yo' be, ef yo're
a mind to, an' ef not hit don't make no difference. We hain't
partic'lar out here, nohow--we've hed preachers an' horse-thieves, an'
never asked no odds of neither. I says to Watts----"

Again the girl made forcible entry into the conversation. "My name is
Sinclair. Patty Sinclair, of Middleton, Connecticut. My father----"

"Land o' love! So yo're Mr. Sinclair's darter! Yo' do favor him a mite
about the eyes, come to look; but yer nose is diff'rnt to hisn, an'
so's yer mouth--must a be'n yer ma's was like that. But sometimes they
don't favor neither one. Take Microby Dandeline, here, 'tain't no one
could say she hain't Watts's, an' Horatius Ezek'l, he favors me, but
fer's the rest of 'em goes, they mightn't b'long to neither one of
us." Microby