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Alabama "Uncle Bud" Ryland 3

strung from a dozen nails that had been driven into the
walls.

Inside the cabin was freshly scrubbed, but it's
cleanliness served only to emphasize its bareness. There
was one bed made of two-by-four lumber, and covered with
a straw mattress. Nearby was a dilapidated cot, covered
only by a patchwork quilt of great age. In a corner stood
a wood stove that seemed to be yearning t o crumble off
its weary legs.

In the other room--smaller than the first and added
without much planning to the original structure-a long
table, and a bench had been nailed to the wall. A sack of
corn meal was on the table, and a bag of coffee rested on
a nearby shelf, but no other groceries were in evidence.
There were no chairs in either room.

"After a little while," my host said, "1'11 walk over
to th' Cravens an' git us some lard. I got plenty cat -
fish down thar in th' live box, an' we got all th' meal we
need. I'm a bit tard of fish, but I guess you kin stand
a bait."

"Tell me, Uncle Bud," I ventured, "do you eat fish
all the time?"

"Most of th' time I do," he answered, "though once
in a good spell I take a yaller cat into town an' trade
hit in fer some canned stuff an' side meat. I do thet
when it gits to whar I can't look a durned catfish in th'
face."

I said, "Well, we'll make a swap. You feed me fish,

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