“Well, ol’ Davy wasn’t about to go barking up another man’s tree. So I set about to study on the problem, and at last I calculated a solution. I reckoned I would get rid of my passions by swallowin’ some e-lectricity.

“I knew it had to be done by bringing the lightning right smack against my heart and driving the love clear out of it. So I waited ’til there was a pestiferous thundergust one afternoon. Then I went out into the countryside, and I stood there with my mouth wide open, so that the e-lectricity might run down and hit my heart and cure it of love. I stood so for an hour, and then I saw a thunderbolt a-coming, and I dodged my mouth right under it, and—bang!—it went clear down my throat! My land! It was as if a whole tribe of buffaloes was kicking inside my bowels. My heart spun around amongst my insides like a grindstone going by steam, but the lightning went dear through me and tore my trousers dean off as it come out t’other end.

“I had a mighty sore gizzard for two weeks afterward, and my innards was so hot that I used to eat raw vittles and they would be cooked before they got fairly down my throat.

“But that-there e-lectricity plumb did the job—for I ain’t never felt love since.”

While this crude backwoods “yarn”—with its unseemly emphasis on alimentary processes—struck me as entirely unsuitable for the dinner table, it elicited a lively, not to say intemperate, display of amusement from both Muddy and Sissy. At length—their hilarity having subsided—our guest sat forward in his chair, delivered a resounding slap to one knee, and declared: “Well now, ladies, I reckon I’ve done enough jabbering for one night.” Turning to gaze directly at Sissy, he said: “Miz Virginny, it would make me happier than a dog with two tails to hear you sing for a spell.”

Sissy clapped her hands excitedly. “Goody!” she cried. “Come!” Then—springing from her seat—she hurried from the kitchen.

Crockett, Muddy, and I rose from the table and proceeded into the parlor, where Sissy had already stationed herself in the center of the room. While Crockett lowered himself into the solitary easy chair positioned by the fireplace, Muddy and I arranged ourselves on the little settee. No sooner had we taken our places than Sissy—her delicate white hands clasped before her bosom and her sweet, seraphic countenance positively lustrous with excitement—announced her intention to commence with the engaging ditty, “We’re on Our Way to Baltimore.” Raising her eyes heavenward, she parted her lips and began to sing:

“We’re on our way to Baltimore,
With two behind and two before,
Around, around, around we go,
Where oats, peas, beans, and barley grow,
In waiting for somebody!