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An Missy Mara look 'im in de eyes an say, you dat's you, Marse Clancy may be dead, or you may be dyin, an dat she can't leab you an she won leab you. She got de grit ob true lub, an dere'll neber be any runin away in her heart. Wot you an Marse Bodine gwine ter do 'bout sich lub as dat? 'Fo' de Lawd my honey lam' die ef you an Marse Bodine 'sist on bein so orful hon'ble.
He had sold his fish instead of bringing them home, and then had gone and squandered the money on a brilliant new red necktie. "Dat's good 'nuff for me to wear to meetin'," said Mrs. Lee, when her eyes fell upon the gorgeous bit of cheap silk. "Reckon it won't be wasted on any good-for-nuffin boy. I'll show ye wot to do wid yer fish. You' a-gettin' too mighty fine, anyhow."
Was dis boy big like yo'all, wi' black hair an' a thin face?" "Yes." "Dat's de Jeems boy. He ain't got no mammy nor pappy. He lives jest like de wil' man wi' a li'l huntin' an' a big lot stealin'. He talk big. Say he belongs in de big house, not wi' swamp folks. But jest yo'all pay no 'tenshun to him nohow." "Val! Val Ralestone! Where are you?" Ricky's voice sounded clear through the morning air.
"'Chad, where did dat leg go? An' so I ups an' tells him all about Henny, an' how I was lyin' 'cause I was 'feared de gal would git hurt, an' how she was on'y a-foolin', thinkin' it was my goose; an' den de ole marsa look in de fire for a long time, an' den he says: "'Dat's Colonel Barbour's Henny, ain't it, Chad? "'Yes, marsa, says I.
"Tak car ob de ink!" shrieked Clorinda, pulling the paper from under his hand in time to preserve it from the great blot of ink that descended on the table-cover instead. "Dat's a purty splotch, now, ain't it; yer a nice hand, Caleb Benson!" "Taint much, nobody'll ever notice it," said Caleb, wiping it off with his coat-sleeve. "Don't raise a breeze about nothin', Clorindy."
Dat's what I calls a high-tone word; ain't it, now, Marse John?" "Yes, Uncle Reub'; ratiocination is a good word in its place." Marshall was much amused. "I suppose you know what it means?" "Nemmine 'bout dat," Reub' protested, grinning all over "nemmine 'bout dat. I des gwine fetch it in when I needs a thunder-bolt! Rasheoshinatiom! Dat's a bomb-shell fur de prosecutiom!
"Dat's no kind o' job fer a broiler." And before either she or Theriere could guess his intention the mucker had pushed Barbara aside and taken her place at the wheel. "Good for you, Byrne!" cried Theriere. "I needed you badly." "Why didn't yeh say so den?" growled the man.
But she don't know I know it. You see, she knows I kin sing all over her, an' dat's huccome she's a-projectin' to ketch de eyes o' de congergation! "But ef you'll he'p me out, Miss Bettie, we'll fix 'er. You know dem yaller gauzy wings you wo'e in de tableaux?
Our sudden exodus from Bedford Place had been determined upon immediately after Chad's dismal failure to locate the coal-field: Fitz having carried the day against Yancey, Kerfoot, and even the agent himself, who was beginning to waver under the accumulation of uncertainties. "Dat's enough roses to bury up de dishes. Rub yo' nose down in 'em. Ain't dey sweet! Now, come along wid me, Major.
Uncle Shadrach, I got here before you!" "Dat's so, honey," responded Uncle Shadrach from behind the Governor's chair. He was so like his master commanding port, elaborate shirt-front, and high white stock that the Major, in a moment of merry-making, had once dubbed him "the Governor's silhouette." "Say your grace, dear," remonstrated Miss Lydia, as the child shook out her napkin.
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