sence we've turned 'Piscopals we've found out that ain't so.

Of co'se the preachers, they used to talk to us about it once-t in a
while,--seemed to think it ought to be did,--'ceptin', of co'se, the
Baptists.

Well, sir, it went along so till last week. Sonny ain't but, ez I said,
thess not quite six year old, an' they seemed to be time enough. But
last week he had been playin' out o' doors bare-feeted, thess same ez he
always does, an' he tramped on a pine splinter some way. Of co'se, pine,
it's the safe-t-est splinter a person can run into a foot, on account
of its carryin' its own turpentine in with it to heal up things; but
any splinter thet dast to push itself up into a little pink foot is a
messenger of trouble, an' we know it. An' so, when we see this one, we
tried ever' way to coax him to let us take it out, but he wouldn't, of
co'se. He never will, an' somehow the Lord seems to give 'em ambition to
work their own way out mos' gen'ally.

But, sir, this splinter didn't seem to have no energy in it. It thess
lodged there, an' his little foot it commenced to swell, an' it swole
an' swole tell his little toes stuck out so thet the little pig thet
went to market looked like ez ef it wasn't on speakin' terms with the
little pig thet stayed home, an' wife an' me we watched it, an' I reckon
she prayed over it consider'ble, an' I read a extry psalm at night befo'
I went to bed, all on account o' that little foot. An' night befo' las'
it was lookin' mighty angry an' swole, an' he had limped an' "ouched!"
consider'ble all day, an' he was mighty fretful bed-time. So, after he
went to sleep, wife she come out on the po'ch where I was settin', and
she says to me, says she, her face all drawed up an' workin', says she:
"Honey," says she, "I reckon we better sen' for him an' have it did."