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BEELER.
_Indicating Rhoda._
Make you acquainted with my wife's niece, Miss Williams.
_Uncle Abe bows._
RHODA.
_Pushing forward a chair._
Sit down, Uncle. I don't see how you found your way in this dreadful fog.
UNCLE ABE.
Fawg don' matta' nothin' to me, honey. Don' mean nothin' 'tall.
_He speaks with exaltation and restrained excitement._
Yo' ol' Uncle keeps on tellin' 'em, dis hyah fawg an' darkness don'
mean nothin' 'tall!
_Rhoda and Martha look at him puzzled._
_Beeler, busy over his harness, has not been struck by the old negro's words._
BEELER.
How's the ginseng crop this year?
UNCLE ABE.
They ain' no mo' gimsing!
BEELER.
No more ginseng? What do you mean?
UNCLE ABE.
De good Lawd, he ain' goin' fool roun' no mo' wif no gimsing!
BEELER.
_Amused._
Why, I thought your ginseng bitters was His main holt.
UNCLE ABE.
_With a touch of regret._
Use to be, Mars' Beeler. It sh.o.r.e use to be.--Yes, sah. Bless de Lawd!
_Shakes his head in reminiscence._
He sartinly did set sto' by them thah bitters.
BEELER.
_With lazy amus.e.m.e.nt._
So the Lord's gone back on ginseng now, has He?
UNCLE ABE.
Yes, sah.
BEELER.
What makes you think so?
UNCLE ABE.
_Solemnly._
Roots all kill by de fros'!
_His manner grows more and more mysterious; he half closes his eyes, as he goes on in a strange, mounting singsong._
Knowed it more'n a monf ago, fo' dis hyah blin' worl' lef' de plough in de ploughshare an' de ungroun' wheat betwixen de millstones, and went a-follerin' aftah dis hyah new star outen de Eas', like a bride follerin' aftah de bridegroom!
_Martha taps her forehead significantly, and goes back to her batter._
BEELER.
New star, Uncle? Tell us about it. Sounds interesting.
UNCLE ABE.
_Stares at each of them in turn._
Ain' you-all heerd?
BEELER.
You've got the advantage of us.
