"Dannie," says my uncle, feigning a relief he dared not entertain,
"you was wantin' a drop o' water, wasn't you?" He pushed the little
brown jug towards me. "I _'lowed_ 'twas water," says he, hopefully,
"when you up an' spoke about gettin' a glass from the pantry." He
urged the jug in my direction. "Ay," he repeated, not hopefully now
at all, but in a whisper more like despair, "I jus' _'lowed_ 'twas a
drop o' water."
The jug remained in its place.
"Dannie," he entreated, with a thick forefinger still urging the jug
on its course, "you is thirsty, I _knows_ you is!"