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“You didn’ have no call to come ova in de fus’ place,” he was saying to her, “you womens is alluz runnin’ back’ards and for’ards like skeard rabbit in de co’n fiel’.” “I don’ stan’ no sich talk is dat f’om you. Ef you kiant tin’ to yo’ business o’ totin’ folks w’en dey wants, you betta quit. You done cheat Mose out o’ de job, anyways; we all knows dat.” “Mine out, woman, you gwine git hu’t.
“W’en I’m away f’om you, even fur five minutes, ’t seems like I mus’ hurry quick, quick, to git back again; an’ w’en I’m with you, everything ’pears all right, even if you don’t talk to me or look at me. Th’ otha day, down at the gin,” he continued, “I was figurin’ on some weights an’ wasn’t thinkin’ about you at all, an’ all at once I remember’d the one time I’d kissed you. Goodness!
“Shame to talk so cruelly; I don’t believe in such places.” “You don’t believe in hell?” he asked in blank surprise. “Certainly not. I’m a Unitarian.” “Well, that’s new to me,” was his only comment. “Do you believe in spirits, Grégoire? I don’t in day time.” “Neva mine ’bout spirits,” he answered, taking her arm and leading her off, “let’s git away f’om yere.”
Then sitting back on his heels he looked meditatively into the blaze which he had kindled and scratched his nose with a splinter of pine wood. When Hosmer presently left the room, he rolled his big black eyes towards Fanny, without turning his head, and remarked in a tone plainly inviting conversation “yo’ all come f’om way yonda?”
He passed his hand slowly over his white long hair and turned bewildered into the house. “Is it just this same old thing year in and year out, Grégoire? Don’t any one ever get up a dance, or a card party or anything?” “Jus’ as you say; the same old thing f’om one yea’s en’ to the otha. I used to think it was putty lonesome myse’f w’en I firs’ come yere.
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