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"O' course, and I always pick a mighty dark hour. Hyde Lake, desarvin' its name, is full o' eight or ten kinds o' fine fish, an' here are some layin' under the leaves that I cooked last night. I eat pow'ful often myself. Livin' such a lazy life here, I've growed to be what Paul calls a eppycure.
"I've see worse coves nor you!" said he, "and one good turn desarvin' another lie snug all day, and travel by night, and keep to the byroads this ain't no common case, there'll be a thousand pound on your 'ead afore the week's out so look spry, my cove!" saying which, he nodded, turned upon his heel, and strode away, cursing to himself.
"You know the old saying, 'Don't throw out your dirty wather until you get in fresh." "Ah, darlin', don't be cruel to me!" said Andy, in a supplicating tone. "I know I'm not desarvin' of you, but sure I did not make so bowld as to make up to you until I seen that nobody else would have you." "Nobody else have me!" exclaimed Matty, as her eyes flashed with anger.
They called me a non-commissioned officer. I niver could find in me heart to consociate wid them consaited commissioners though there was wan or two of 'em as was desarvin' o' the three stripes. But I niver took kindly to sodgerin'. It was in the Howth militia I was. Good enough boys they was in their way, but I couldn't pull wid them no how.
"Sure I was civil-spoken to her." "Augh!" said his mother. "And took no liberty." "You goose!" "And called her Miss." "Oh, indeed you missed it altogether." "And said I wasn't desarvin' of her." "That was thrue but you should not have towld her so. Make a woman think you're betther than her, and she'll like you." "And sure, when I endayvoured to make myself agreeable to her "
Bein' as you're tender, Sol Hyde, an' not used to hard life in the woods, you kin take that bed yourself, an' in the mornin' your wally will be here with hot water in a silver mug an' a razor to shave you, an' he'll dress you in a ruffled red silk shirt an' a blue satin waistcoat, an' green satin breeches jest comin' to the knee, where they meet yellow silk stockin's risin' out uv purple satin slippers, an' then he'll clap on your head a big wig uv snow-white hair, fallin' all about your shoulders an' he'll buckle a silver sword to your side, an' he'll say: 'Gentlemen, him that hez long been known ez Shif'less Sol, an' desarvin' the name, but who in reality is the King o' France, is now before you.
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