But the skies above it had sterner moods,--sometimes lightnings
veined the familiar clouds; winds rioted about it; the thunder spoke
close at hand. And then it was that Mrs. Griggs lamented her
husband's course in "raisin' the house hyar so nigh the bluffs ez ef
it war an' aigle's nest," and forgot that she had ever accounted
herself "sifflicated" when distant from the airy cliffs.

She stood in the doorway now, her arms akimbo--an attitude that
makes a woman of a certain stamp seem more masterful than a man.
Her grizzled locks were ornamented by a cotton cap with a wide and
impressive ruffle, which, swaying and nodding, served to emphasize
her remarks. She was conferring in a loud drawl with her husband,
who had let down the bars to admit his horse, laden with a newly
killed deer. Her manner would seem to imply that she, and not he,
had slain the animal.

"Toler'ble fat," she commented with grave self-complacence. "He
'minds me sorter o' that thar tremenjious buck we hed las'
September. HE war the fattes' buck I ever see. Take off his hide
right straight."

The big cap-ruffle flapped didactically.

"Lor'-a--massy, woman!" vociferated the testy old man; "ain't I a-
goin' ter? Ter hear ye a-jowin', a-body would think I had never
shot nothin' likelier'n a yaller-hammer sence I been born. S'pos'n
ye jes' takes ter goin' a-huntin', an' skinnin' deer, an' cuttin'
wood, an' doin' my work ginerally. Pears-like ye think ye knows mo'
'bout'n my work'n I does. An' I'll bide hyar at the house."