poetry verses for the papers?"

"Oh, well, if you mean that," said Vilda argumentatively, "I don't call
writin' poetry any great test of smartness. There ain't been a big fool
in this village for years but could do somethin' in the writin' line. I
guess it ain't any great trick, if you have a mind to put yourself down
to it. For my part, I've always despised to see a great, hulkin' man,
that could handle a hoe or a pitchfork, sit down and twirl a pen-stalk."

"Well, I ain't so sure. I guess the Lord hes his own way o' managin'
things. We ain't all cal'lated to hoe pertaters nor yet to write poetry
verses. There's as much dif'rence in folks 's there is in anybody. Now,
I can take care of a dairy as well as the next one, 'n' nobody was ever
hearn to complain o' my butter; but there was that lady in New York
State that used to make flowers 'n' fruit 'n' graven images out o' her
churnin's. You've hearn tell o' that piece she carried to the
Centennial? Now, no sech doin's 's that ever come into my head. I've
went on makin' round balls for twenty years: 'n', massy on us, don't I
remember when my old butter stamp cracked, 'n' I couldn't get another
with an ear o' corn on it, 'n' hed to take one with a beehive, why, I
was that homesick I couldn't bear to look my butter 'n the eye! But that
woman would have had a new picter on her balls every day, I shouldn't
wonder! (For massy's sake, Maria, don't stan' stock still 'n' let the
flies eat yer right up!) No, I tell yer, it takes all kinds o' folks to
make a world. Now, I couldn't never read poetry. It's so dull, it makes
me feel 's if I'd been trottin' all day in the sun! But there's folks
that can stan' it, or they wouldn't keep on turnin' of it out. The
children are nice children enough, but have they got any folks anywhere,
'n' what kind of folks, 'n' where'd they come from, anyhow: that's what
we've got to find out, 'n' I guess it'll be consid'able of a chore!"