"I've heard that 'twas yo' granddaughter's birthday an' that she's like
to change her name befo' it's time for another."
"Well, I'm glad to see you, old Adam," replied Reuben, sinking into a
chair while he invited his visitor to another. "I've gone kind of faint,
honey," he added, "an' I reckon we'd both like a sip of blackberry wine
if you've got it handy. Miss Kesiah gave me something to drink, but my
throat was so stiff I couldn't swallow it."
The blackberry wine was kept in a large stone crock in the cellar, and
while she filled the glasses, Molly heard the voice of old Adam droning
on above the chirping of the birds in the orchard.
"I've been settin' here steddyin' them weeds out thar over-runnin'
everything," he was saying, "an' it does appear to a considerin' body
that the Lord might have made 'em good grass an' grain with precious
little trouble to Himself an' a mortal lot of satisfaction to the po'
farmers."
"He knows best. He knows best," responded Reuben.
"Well, I used to think that way befo' I'd looked into the matter,"
rejoined the other, "but the deeper I get, the less reason I see to be
sartain sure.
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