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An' whin de night come' erlong, dey ain't no sounds at all whut kin be heard in dat locality but de rain-doves, whut mourn out, "Oo-oo-o-o-o!" jes dat trembulous an' scary, an' de owls, whut mourn out, "Whut-whoo-o-o-o!" more trembulous an' scary dan dat, an' de wind, whut mourn out, "You-you-o-o-o!" mos' scandalous' trembulous an' scary ob all.
I will set the kitchen in order if thee will look well to the up-stairs." "Hit am done looked aftah," said Sukey drawing closer to the fire. "Eberyt'ing's all right, Miss Peggy. Now yer kin jest go right erlong ter yer fren's, and let ole Sukey red up." "Thee must take more wood up-stairs," spoke the girl desperately. "There must be an abundance, Sukey. Does thee hear?"
"I has somp'n' on my min, Brothah Middleton, dat I wants to thrash out to-night in de sollertude of my own chambah," was the solemn reply. "Well, I ain' gwine keep erlong wid you an' pestah you wid my chattah, Brothah Hayward," and at the next corner Isaac Middleton turned off and went his way, with a cheery "so long, may de Lawd set wid you in yo' meddertations."
An' whin he come erlong to be 'bout knee-high to a mewel, he 'gin to git powerful 'fraid ob ghosts, 'ca'se dat am sure a mighty ghostly location whut he lib' in, 'ca'se dey 's a grabeyard in de hollow, an' a buryin'-ground on de hill, an' a cemuntary in betwixt an' between, an' dey ain't nuffin' but trees nowhar excipt in de clearin' by de shanty an' down de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am.
An' li'l' black Mose he tuck one look ober he shoulder, an' he shut he eyes so tight dey hurt round de aidges, an' he pick' up he foots an' run. Yas, sah, he run' right peart fast. An' he say': "Dey ain't no ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts." An' he run' erlong de paff whut lead' by de buryin'-ground on de hill, 'ca'se dey ain't no fince eround dat buryin'-ground at all.
He nevertheless performed his ablutions in a perfunctory way, and resumed his seat at the breakfast-table. "Ole 'oman," he asked, after the edge of his appetite had been taken off, "how would you lack ter live at de Norf?" "I dunno nuffin' 'bout de Norf," replied aunt Milly. "It 's hard 'nuff ter git erlong heah, whar we knows all erbout it."
I believe he's got a stick for't out in the workshop had it there for months." "Now, you git erlong with that pail, Marty," commanded his mother, "and don't stand there a-criticisin' of your elders." Janice hid behind the great lilac bush until Marty had gone grumblingly down the hill. Then she heard some loud language from the barnyard and knew that her uncle had come in from the fields.
Thar be young 'uns an' young 'uns," he elucidated, "but they be tartars! Yew'd be in yer grave afore the fust frost; an' who's a-gwine ter bury yer the taown?" His tone became gentle and broken: "No, no, Angy. Yew be a good gal, an' dew jest as we calc'lated on. Yew jine the Old Ladies'; yew've got friends over thar, yew'll git erlong splendid. An' I'll git erlong tew.
"De c'unel dat stubbo'n I jes' have to talk mighty plain 'fore I could make him pudge erlong," proudly whispered the servant as he passed me. I sprang to my feet, and Colonel Lewis and His Excellency, John Murray, Earl of Dunmore, our royal governor, leisurely strolled into view. Colonel Lewis wore no wig and was smoking a pipe, of which he was inordinately fond.
Here's a Chatanooga paper I'll throw in to boot. Got a Northern paper about ye anywhar?" Si produced a somewhat frayed Cincinnati Gazette. "I can't read myself," said the rebel, as he tucked the paper away. "Never l'arned to. Pap wuz agin hit. Said hit made men lazy. He got erlong without readin', and raised the biggest fambly on Possum Crick.
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