it a kickin' spell on
'em, _dance it off_; an' ef you feel it in yo' han', des run fur de
banjo an' play de sweetes' chune you know, an' fus' thing you know all
yo' madness 'll be gone.

"She 'ain't got no mouf, but she can talk ter you, all de same; an' she
'ain't got no head, but she can reason wid you. An' while ter look at
'er she's purty nigh all belly, she don't eat a crumb. Dey ain't a
greedy bone in 'er.

"An' I wants you ter ricollec' dat I done guv 'er to you--dat is, _yo'
sheer_ [share] _in 'er_, caze she's _mine_ too, you know. I done guv you
a even sheer in 'er, des _caze you an' me is gran'daddy an' gran'son_.

"Dis heah way o' dyin' an' _leavin'_ prop'ty, hit mought suit white
folks, but it don't become our complexioms, some way; an' de mo' I
thought about havin' to die ter give de onlies' gran'son I got de
onlies' _prop'ty_ I got, de _miser'bler I got_, tell I couldn't stan' it
no mo'."

Little Tim's throat choked up again, and he rolled his eyes around and
swallowed twice before he answered: "An' I--I was miser'ble too,
gran'dad. I used ter des look at 'er hangin' 'g'inst de wall, an' think
about me maybe playin' 'er, an' you--you not--not nowhar in
sight--an'--an' some days seem like _I--I des hated 'er_."

"Yas, baby, I know. But now you won't hate 'er no mo', boy; an' ef you
die fus'--some time, you know, baby, little boys _does die_--an' ef you
go fus', I'll teck good keer o' yo' sheer in 'er; an' ef I go, you mus'
look out fur my sheer. An' long as we bofe live--well, I'll look out fur
'er voice--keep 'er th'oat strings in order; an' you see dat she don't
git ketched out in bad comp'ny, or in de rain, an' take cold.

"Come on now. Wash yo' little face, and let's go ter de dance. Gee-man!
Lis'n at de fire-crackers callin' us. Come on. Dat's right. Pack 'er on
yo' shoulder like a man."

And so the two Tims start off to the Christmas festival, young Tim
bearing his precious burden proudly ahead, while the old man follows
slowly behind, chuckling softly.

"Des think how much time I done los', not takin' 'im in pardners befo',
an' he de onlies' gran'son I got!"

While little Tim, walking cautiously so as not to trip in the uneven
path, turns presently and calls back:

"Gran'dad, I reckon we done walked half de way, now. I done toted 'er
_my_ sheer. Don't you want me ter tote 'er _yo' sheer_?"

And the old man answers, with another chuckle, "Go on, honey."

THE FREYS' CHRISTMAS PARTY