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'Thou'll niver tell me this hasn't been brewin' longer nor twelve hours; thou's a sly close chap, and we hannot seen thee this se'nnight; thou'll ha' been thinkin' on this, and cogitating it, may-be, a' that time. 'Nay, said Philip, 'I knew nought about it last night; it's none o' my doing, going, for I'd liefer ha' stayed where I am.
What do you suppose she's goin' to do with it all?" "Lord knows," answered Marty. "I've been a speckkerlatin' about that very thing myself. They can't be a brewin' beer this time o' year; but I see her yesterday with her hands full o' pyroly." "I wish you would make an errand in there, Marty," said Mrs. White, "and see if you can any way find out what it's all for.
The farmer, a thick-set, hairy man, whose name was Turner, gave a sudden hitch to the halter to check the progress of the cow, and nodded ominously. "Bad weather's brewin'," he said. "The wind's blowin' from the northeast; I can tell by the way that thar oak turns its leaves. It's a bad sign, and if thar ain't a-shiftin' 'fore mornin', we're likely to hev a spell." Nicholas agreed.
He must come ashore; I want to have a palaver with him." As we left the house to return to the woods, Bill shook his head. "There's mischief brewin' in that black rascal's head. I know him of old. But what comes here?"
"Den he tuck'n squoze my han' en jump on de filly I bin savin' fer 'im, en rid off. One time he tu'n roun' en look like he wanter say sump'n', but he des waf' his han' so en gallop on. I know'd den dat trouble wuz brewin'. Nigger dat knows he's gwineter git thumped kin sorter fix hisse'f, en I tuck'n fix up like de war wuz gwineter come right in at de front gate.
"Did the storm strike as soon as that?" asked the boy. "No. If it had, I think I should have gone back. But at the end of that half-hour, we topped a rise that gave a view of the country ahead an' showed it to be broken an' bad travelin'. I shouldn't have liked the look of it at any time, but with a storm brewin' an' the Indian wantin' to go back, it sure did look ugly.
I ain't gainsayin, however, but thet Jennie was better off with Kate Bland. She's been hard on Jennie, but she's kept Bland an' the other men from treatin' the kid shameful. Late Jennie has growed into an all-fired pretty girl, an' Kate is powerful jealous of her. I can see hell brewin' over there in Bland's cabin. Thet's why I wish you'd come over with me. Bland's hardly ever home.
An' they bribes their poor silly voters wi' their drink till they'se like a flock o' sheep runnin' into wotever field o' politics their shepherds drives 'em. The best way to make the temp'rance cause pop'lar is to stop big brewin'. Let every ale'ouse 'ave its own pertikler brew, an' m'appen we'll git some o' the old-fashioned malt an' 'ops agin.
Changes there must be, and changes there will be, and if the Five Sisters is a-comin' down, then there's ill-luck brewin' for the village, an' for every man, woman and child in it! Mark my wurrd!" And he resumed his hobbling trudge, shaking his head dolefully. "Don't say that, Josey!" murmured one of the women with a little shudder; "You didn't ought to talk about ill-luck.
"I've knowed you a long time, an' I know that you're a damn' sight straighter than a lot of men which has got reputations better than yourn. But there's some things want explainin'. I've sort of took a shine to that little girl in there. There's things brewin' which is goin' to make it mighty bad for her.
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