QOD: Sponges and tongues are frequently misspelled. Is it because both are thirsty?

They do say all kinds a things run in fam’lies. Ain’t just bein’ things like big ol’ ears or scruffy red beards or ankles big as tree trunks, neither. Them things is good for conversin’ when a body ain’t got nothin’ much to say--just tryin’ to fill in the air, so to speak, but my Bobbi Rae say none but a idjit cain’t stand a spell a silence.

Bits a magic floatin’ through them generations, now. That be worth givin’ a hear, in my book. ‘Course my Bobbi Rae done told me ‘bout this in strict confidence, so ain’t nothin’ to be repeatin’ to ears what ain’t got the sense God give a mule. I know yourself ain’t the sort a body to go givin’ conniptions for joy, so that’ll do for a pledge.

Anyhow, my Bobbi Rae heared this from that Louise up there lookin’ after ol’ Missy. One who been makin’ that dandelion wine long as ‘bout forever? Yup. Now, Louise ain’t straight off ol’ Missy’s line, but from Missy’s half-sister. Missy’s momma, now, was sore deceived by some ol’ silver-tongued rascal what up ‘n’ left her ‘bout three seconds after Missy weren’t no more’n a gleam in that devilish blue eye a his, if’n you catch my drift. Cain’t blame that poor woman bein’ cross with any feller in pants, like my own momma liked sayin,’ ‘n’ double cross with feller’s outer they pants. But that young Missy was proper gifted with spyin’ out lies. Once her momma got trustin’ that good ‘n’ proper, she got herself hitched to a mighty fine feller from up Yon Hill way.

Missy’s oh, ten maybe, when her momma goes ‘n’ gives her a bitty little half-sister name a Doodle. Warn’t her real name, a ‘course, but that were some mouthful a somethin’ like Esmereladinia-Dorinamabelelda or somewhat, so not’s even her own progeny can think what it was half the time. Everbody just called her Doodle ‘n’ that’s good ‘nough for me, I’s thinkin.’ Anyhow, Missy done doted on that chil’ like nobody’s bizness, so it be natural like for Doodle to go lovin’ Missy right on back. Didn’t never mind sharin’ her papa ‘n’ warn’t one speck a jealous in her, but it preyed on that young mind how Missy couldn’t help a thirstin’ after a pa all her own, one that warn’t a devil with a angel throat.

So Doodle’s comin’ nigh on fifteen ‘n’ lookin’ as fine as you could want a young woman lookin’ ‘n’ maybe a bit more, even. She got her a way, though, what make any feller think twice on maybe givin’ her a bad time over nothin.’ No magic like her sister Missy, leastwise not that anybody notice, but not one to go foolin’ with.

Now all this time Doodle been growin’ up, her daddy been haulin’ dandelion wine over Yon Hill to Post Hole for sellin’ once a month. Nice bizness they got goin’ ‘n’ a ‘course he run on down to Bascomb, too, ‘n’ over Crazy Woman way. Mostly them red injins out thataway. Braves what give up corn liquor—‘n’ don’t you think them squaws had a say in that one. Anyhow, he up and break a leg or somewhat. Maybe just a spraing or whatall, but point is, he cain’t go deliverin’ Missy’s wine. Missy cain’t go ‘cause she fixin’ on droppin’ a young’un any second, and they momma won’t leave her poor wounded man.

So Doodle loads up ‘n’ heads over Yon Hill, with maybe a hunnerd cautions ringin’ in her ears. Gits to Post Hole ‘bout seven of a evening. Mr. Flynt at the gen’ral store over there say ain’t no way that purty gal gonna hole up at Miz Ellie’s ‘cause they’s riff-raff come by there ‘n’ everbody knows it. Takes her home ‘n’ Miz Flynt take such a shine to that Doodle she sets in beggin’ her to stay a couple days for a visit. Doodle sends home a note with one a them Flynt boys next day, so’s her momma don’t worrit none.

Now that’s how Doodle come to spend Sabbath over to Post Hole. Miz Flynt done borry her a dress what hangs a bit loose but Doddle was one to look fine in a gunny sack. Doddle got herself a funny feelin’ when the preacher gets up to spout. Somethin’ she cain’t quite place ‘n’ it keeps on a botherin’ ‘n’ a botherin’ her right through all kinds a hellfire ‘n’ damnation ‘n’ salvation, though shore ain’t much a that last, but that’s them Post Hole folks for ya.

When they breaks for picnic lunch, Doodle goes sidlin’ over to that preacher man ‘n’ strikes up a conversation. Oh, he be one silver-tongued devil, all right, ‘n’ don’t take a blind man t’see he’s takin’ a shine to Doodle. When the eatin’s done, she come walkin’ back to the Flynts ‘n’ Miz Flynt ask if she feelin’ all right, ‘cause Doodle’s got her a funny look under that smile.

So the afternoon preachin’ commences ‘n’ that preacher gits goin’ right fierce from the get go, thinkin’ maybe to shine afore that purty new gal. Hardly gits through to his first hellfire when he dries up somethin’ awful. He gulps a glass a water, chokes a bit, pours ‘nother glass from the pitcher up there by the pulpit ‘n’ then chugalugs that pitcher dry. Everbody’s stirrin’ in them pews, ‘n’ the deacons is runnin’ for more water. Doodle just sits there with that same funny look behind her smile.

To keep a long story short, Doodle goes on back home ‘n’ Post Hole has to git them a new preacher, ‘cause that silver-tongued one they set such store by has got him a tongue made a pure sponge. He took hisself out to live by the stream, needin’ to drink day ‘n’ night, night ‘n’ day. Some say he drunk so much he fin’ly up ‘n’ bust. Some say he live there still, feared to go two steps away from a good supply a water.

Doodle, meanwhiles, gets her a reputation for being a gal not to cross. Seems that ol’ silver-tongued preacher man was Missy’s long lost papa what had the bad luck to leave his purty blue eyes twinklin’ in Missy’s face. Seems Doodle just figured he oughter git some understandin’ ‘bout thirst.