It befalls that when my grandfather passes his
eightieth year, he decides that he needs religion.
"'" It's about time," he says, "for me to begin layin' up a treasure
above. I'm goin' on eighty-one an' my luck can't last forever."
"'So my grandfather he sets up in bed an' he perooses them
scriptures for four months. I tell you, gents, he shorely searches
that holy book a whole lot. An' then he puts it up he'll be
baptized. Also, that he'll enter down into the water an' rise up out
of the water like it's blazoned in them texts.
"'Seein' she's Janyooary at the time, with two foot of snow on the
ground, it looks like my grandfather will have to postpone them
rites. But he couldn't be bluffed. My grandfather reaches out of bed
an' he rings that bell I tells you-all of, an' proceeds to convene
his niggers. He commands 'em to cut down a big whitewood tree that
lives down in the bottoms, hollow out the butt log for a trough, an'
haul her up alongside the r'ar veranda.
"'For a week thar's a incessant "chip! chop!" of the axes; an' then
with six yoke of steers, the trough is brought into camp. It's long
enough an' wide enough an' deep enough to swim a colt.
"'The day for the baptizin' is set, an' the Sterett fam'ly comes
trackin' in.
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