tempt for the Tunker superstition, or whether Jeb had a
secret pride in the outline of his mouth and chin, and a desire to give
full expression to their best effects, it would be hard to say. It is
certain, however, that his motives must have been powerful, for he
underwent untold torture to achieve his results. If the blades of the
scissors clicked past each other or wabbled apart too far to even click,
Jeb would resort to his knife and proceed to saw off the offending
beard.

"Hit air saw off er chaw off," he would remark laconically, as he tried
first one implement and then the other. "I wisht ter gracious thet theer
scisser leg'd stay whar't war put; but Lide trum the grape vines with
'em las' week an' they is wus sprung then they wus befo'. But wimmen
folks is all durn fools. I'd be right down glad ef the good Lord had a
saw fit ter give 'em a mite er sense. Some folks sez it would er spilt
'em, but I'm blame ef I kin see how they could er been wus spilt than
the way they is fixed now."

He gazed intently at the smoked image on the wall, and collecting,
between his thumb and finger, a pinch of hair on his upper lip began to
saw at it with his knife. His large yellow teeth were displayed, and the
appearance of a beak was so effectively presented by the protruded lip
that words came from behind it with the uncanny sound of a parrot; but
it did not occur to him to cease talking.

"I fromised" (his upper lip was drawn too far out to form the letter p,
or any with like requirements), "I fromised the young 'squire ter be at
the cote house ter day, an' I tole him thet I'd ast the jedge fer ter
'fint a gyardeen fer thet theer _de_mented widder uv Ike's."

He grasped a fresh bunch of stubble, shifted onto the other foot, turned
the side of his face to the smoked image of the one time mirror, and
rolled his eyes so that in case a glass had hung there he might have
been able to see one inch from his left ear. The shaving went steadily
on. So did the conversation.

"Ef I don't make considdable much hase I'm gwine ter be late, an' ef the
jedge don't 'pint a gyardeen fer thet theer Sabriny she's goin' fer ter
squander the hull uv her proppity. Thet theer wuthless Lige Tummun is
goin' fer ter git the hull uv hit. Thet's thes persisely what he's a
figgerin' fer in my erpinion. He hev thes persuaged her fer ter let him
hev the han'lin uv hit, an' she air a goin' ter live thar fer the res'er
her days; but I'd thes like ter know