Here I am
thirty-nine years old, goin' on forty, and ain't got a damn thing
but two old mules, some wore-out plows, and a houseful of
young'uns-and you expectin' another one."
I was so far up the slope now I didn't try to hear any more
Mister Ward said. Nearly half of Miss Dink's water had sloshed
out of the gourd before I could get it back up to the house, but
Miss Dink and Mama didn't seem to notice, or care either. Mama
wouldn't even listen when I started to tell her Mister Ward was
going to kill me. She just shushed me and whispered she was proud
of me for being so smart and for me to sit down on the floor by
her straight chair.
Mama and Miss Dink were talking about the World War and about
Miss Dink's nephew, who was already fighting way across the
waters in some place called France, and about my two big
brothers, who went off to the army camp. Then they got started
telling one another of long-time-ago things, with Miss Dink doing
most of the telling.
"Well sir, time's a-flying fast. It fair scares me to think
it's already 1918.
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