chawed it up, th'
ain't been a day but I've felt shabby.

[Illustration: "She does make 'im _so_ contented an' happy."]

Sir? Yas, sir; we've waited a long time. It's seventeen year, come this
spring, sence we married. Our first child could easy 'a' been sixteen
year ol', 'stid o' two, ef Sonny'd come on time, but he ain't never been
known to hurry hisself. But it does look like, with seventeen year for
reflection, an' nothin' to do but study up other folks's mistakes with
their childern, we ought to be able to raise him right. Wife an' me we
fully agree upon one p'int, 'n' that is, thet mo' childern 'r' sp'iled
thoo bein' crossed an' hindered 'n any other way. Why, sir, them we 've
see' grow up roun' this country hev been fed on daily rations of
"dont's!" an' "stops!" an' "quits!"--an' most of 'em brought up by hand
at that!

An' so, ez I say, we don't never cross Sonny, useless. Of co'se when
he's been sick we have helt his little nose an' insisted on things; but
I reckon we 've made it up to him afterwards, so's he wouldn't take it
amiss.

Oh, yas, sir; he called me "daddy" hisself, 'n' I never learned it to
him, neither. I _was_ layin' out to learn 'im to say "papa" to me, in
time; but I 'lowed I 'd hol' back tell he called _her_ name first.
Seemed like that was her right, somehow, after all thet had passed
'twixt him an' her; an' in all her baby-talk to him I took notice she'd
bring the "mama" in constant.

So of co'se I laid low, hopin' some day he 'd ketch it--an' he did. He
wasn't no mo' 'n 'bout three months ol' when he said it; 'n' then, 'fo'
I could ketch my breath, hardly, an put in my claim, what does he do but
square aroun', an', lookin' at me direc', say "dada!" thess like that.

There's the secon' bell, doctor. 'Sh! _Don't_ ring no mo', Dicey! We're
a-comin'!

At the first bell the roller-towel an' basin gen'ally holds a reception;
but to-day bein' Sunday--

What? Can't stay? But you _must_. Quick ez Sonny come thoo this mornin',
wife took to the kitchen, 'cause, she says, says she, "Likely ez not the
doctor 'll miss his dinner on the road, 'n' I 'll turn in with Dicey an'
see thet he makes it up on supper."

"Eat an' run?" Why not, I like to know? Come on out. Wife's at the
roller-towel now, and she 'll be here in a minute.

Come on, Sonny. Let "dada" tote the clock for you. No? Wants to tote 'er
hisself? Well, he shall, too.

But befo' we go out, doc, say that over ag'in, please.