human
She's getting better, she said one morning as she held the girl's big bony hand and looked down at the thin bright face in its frame of shining hair.
gpt
We'll have her sitting up now before long.
human
Ef Sal onct begins to git well, can't none of 'em beat her,
gpt
Have you any other children?
human
Lord, yes, said Pop,
gpt
How old is she?
human
Seventeen or eighteen, mebbe.
gpt
And she tells me she has never been to school.
human
Thar warn't no needcessity, said Pop complacently, taking a long twist of tobacco from his pocket.
gpt
Sal don't need no larnin'. She's pearter then most gals thet's got book sense. You show me ary one of these gals round here thet kin spin an' weave the cloth to mek ther own dresses, thet kin mold candles, an' mek soap, an' hoe terbaccy, an' handle a rifle good ez a man.
human
But, Mr. Hawkins, insisted Miss Fletcher,
gpt
Look a-here, young woman. I'm nigh on to seventy. I never hed a doctor but onct in my life, an' then he chopped my arm off when it might hev got well whar it wuz. I kin plow, an' fell trees, an' haul wood. Thar ain't a log-rollin' ner a house-raisin' in our neck of the woods thet Jeb Hawkins ain't sent fer. I kin h'ist a barrel with the best of 'em, and shake up Ole Dan Tucker ez peart ez the next one. Now how about yer scholards? This here horspittle is full of 'em. Pale-faced, spindly-legged, nerve-jerking young fellows thet has spent ther fust twenty years gittin' larnin', an' ther next twenty gittin' over hit. Me an' Sal will keep to the open!