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So they tuk him to the horspittle, 'n Larks he up an' died there yestiddy. So us fellars we're goin' to give Larks a stylish funeril, you bet. We liked Larks an' it went over his back. Say, mister, there ain't nothin' mean 'bout us, come to buryin' of Larks; 'n we've voted to settle on one them 'Gates Ajar' pieces made o'flowers, doncherknow.
"Is that you, Nimbus?" asked the stricken man in surprise. "How do you come to be here?" "Jes tuk it inter my head ter come home atter de funeril, an' done got here jest in time ter take a han' in what was gwine on." "Is the church all burned down, Nimbus?" "De ruf hez all fell in. De sides 'll burn a long while yet. Dey'se logs, yer know." "Did 'Gena get away, Nimbus?" "Here I is, Bre'er 'Liab."
So me 'n him an' the other fellars we've saved up all our propurty, for we're agoin' ter give Larks a stylish funeril an' here it is, mister. I told the kids ef there was more'n enough you's trow in a few greens, anyhow. Make up de order right away, mister, and give us our money's worf now, sure for Larks."
Sure Miss Myrtle does jist iverythin' she likes, an' Miss Withers niver middles with her at ahl, excip' jist to roll up her eyes an' look as if she was the hid-moorner at a funeril whiniver Miss Myrtle says she wants to do this or that, or to go here or there.
Sure Miss Myrtle does jist iverythin' she likes, an' Miss Withers niver middles with her at ahl, excip' jist to roll up her eyes an' look as if she was the hid-moorner at a funeril whiniver Miss Myrtle says she wants to do this or that, or to go here or there.
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