Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 29, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 July 1896 — A LOC CABIN WOOING [ARTICLE]

A LOC CABIN WOOING

Sue and Joe Sot and Sot Until Sue’s Mother Took a Hand In. It was only a two room cabin, and after supper Mrs. Coots and I sat down in the front room and left her daughter Sue, a girl about eighteen years old, to clear away and tidy up. Sue had just finished when a young man slipped into the kitchen. His head gear was a coon skin cap, the bottoms of his trousers were tucked into his boot legs, and he was as awkward and ungainly as a cow on ice. “Howdy, Joe?” saluted the girl as he entered. “How—howdy?” he replied, as he sat dow on the edge of a chair and fumbled with his cap. “That’s her beau,” whispered Mrs. Coots to me over her knitting. “Joe’s peart ’nuff, but powerful shy. Bin coting Sue for nigh a y’ar now, but hadn’t dun axed her to marry him.” The girl took a seat on the far side of the room, and for ten minutes not a word was spoken between them. Then she finally queried: “How’s b’ars, Joe?” “Hadn’t seen a b’ar in three months,’’ he replied. There was another painful interval, and then Sue asked: “How’s coons, Joe?” “Coons is plenty,” he replied, as he avoided her glance. “That’s the way it goes!” whispered the mother. “They jist sot and sot and sot, and talk ’bout b’ars and coons and sich, and I do declar’ I’m girtin' all upsot!” Five minutes later, just as the young man seemed on the point of leaving, Sue kindly inquired: “Killed any ’possums lately, Joe?” “Nary one,” he replied, as he stared at his boots. “I can’t abide that no mo’!” muttered the mother, as she laid aside her work and rose up. “What are you going to do?” I asked. “Git ’em together, or skeer him off!’ She walked out into the kitchen and stood before the young man and sternly demanded: “Joe Skillman, did yo’ dun cum over yere to borrow an ax ?” “N—no, mum,” he stammered. “Did yo’ dun cum to cote Sue?” "Y—yes, mum!” “Sue, do yo’ want to be coted?” “Reckon I do,” answered Sue. “Then yo’ all jist listen to me! Joe, yo’ git on t’other side. Sue, yo’ snuggle up to him. I’ze gwine to blow out the candle and leave yo’ in the dusk, and me ’n the stranger's gwine to sot on the fur side of t’other room and talk loud. I’ze got mighty tired of this fussin’ around, and yo’ all has either got to fix or unfix things this very night!” An hour later, when Joe went home. Sue called her mother out and held a whispered conversation with her, and when Mrs. Coots returned to me she smiled grimly and explained: “They-all ar’ gwine to be married next week!”—A. B. Lewis in Truth.