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"An' does he does he ever whip yer?" asked Maggie. In spite of the pain in her heart, Helen smiled. "No never." "Our dad gits mad, too, sometimes," said Bobby. "But, gee! he ain't never like that. Dad, he wouldn't care if somebody just looked into our yard. We wasn't a-hurtin' nothin' just a-lookin' that's all. Yer can't hurt nothin' just a-lookin', can yer?" "I am sorry," said Helen.
Sprudell snatched eagerly at it and retired under the covers, where a loud scrunching told of his efforts to masticate the frozen tidbit. "Can you eat a little somethin', Toy? Is your rheumatiz a-hurtin' pretty bad?" "Hiyu lumatiz," a faint voice answered, "plitty bad."
His grumpy silence of other days, his sardonic humour, gave place to hypochondriac complainings and outbursts of fierce temper. Pony had hurt his foot in a machine at the factory and it required daily dressing. Johnnie understood from the sounds which greeted her that the sore foot was being bandaged. "Hold still, cain't ye?" growled Himes. "I ain't a-hurtin' ye.
Ben had lifted his lantern and was swaying toward the door. "I'll go hum," said he, "but I ain't done with ye some day " Frederick bounded forward like a whiplash, but Tess held him back. Ben gave a quick jump and was gone. "He wasn't worth a-hurtin' any more," Tess commented, lighting a candle. "I know he air the man what killed my other Frederick." The name slipped out with loving intonation.
It excited no comment at all when Old Pete would lean across his bare counter and lament that "Thar's lots o' folks a-hurtin' around hyur for lard, and I ain't got none." I have seen the time when our neighborhood could get no salt nor tobacco without making a twenty-four-mile trip over the mountain and back, in the dead of winter.
"The Flaggalants," by Carl Marr, is a enormous big picter, but fearful to look at. It made me feel real bad to see how them men wuz a-hurtin' their own selves. They hadn't ort to. Another picter by the same artist, called "A Summer Afternoon," I liked as well agin; the soul of the pleasant summer-time looked out of that picter, and the faces of the wimmen and children in it.
"He air to sleep.... And ye ain't no business a-wakin' him up, nuther." Suddenly a dread flashed into Teola's mind. "Tessibel, he is.... There is something the matter with him!" She was fully dressed, tremblingly holding the post of the bed for support. "There is something the matter with him!" she gasped again. "Nothin' that air a-hurtin' him," soothed Tess.
"No," faltered the girl, looking down at her wretched finery; "my shoes 'a' been a-hurtin' my feet. I'm goin' back to the house to take 'em off. I'm tired." "I wish y'd set right down here and take off y'r shoes, M'lissy," said her brother-in-law anxiously. "We'll have to kind o' watch yer paw. I had to tell 'im about the spring, an' he struck off right away an' said he was goin' up there.
But the man never gin 'em a mite. He kep' it all on his back, a-hurtin' and weighin' him down. Then ag'in there was another man. He had a bundle that he didn't put on his back hisself, nor the Head Man didn't nuther. Folks did it to him. He hadn't done nothin' to deserve it, 't was jest put on him by other people, and so 't was powerful hard to bear.
"All worn out and cold and wet, that's what's a-hurtin' you. All worn out and hysterical and all! Poor little Vi-dee!" "I I ain't." "It's all over now, Vi. See, I'm all right! Everything's all right! Just my luck to have the first one since noon right when you get home. It's all over now, Vi. Everything's over, Christmas rush and all.
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