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She goes in for reg'lar discipline, same ez she got an' survived in her day; an' of co'se, ez Sonny come to her ez gran'son the same day he was born to us ez plain son, we never like to lift our voices ag'in anything she says. She loves him thess ez well ez we do, only on a diff'rent plan. She give him the only spankin' he's ever had an' the only silver cup.
If any ould woman kin be placed in the froont rank av Frakes fer the rayson that her gran'son killed another ould woman, wull ye tell me, sor, phwat becomes av our janius an' harrud work?
"But dar ain't nuffin else ter do!" exclaimed Grandison, "an' ef I don't do dat, away goes de truf, clar out o' sight. An' wot sort o' 'ligion you call dat, Brudder 'Bijah?" "'Tain't no kind at all," said 'Bijah, "fur we's bound ter stick to de truf, which is de bottom corner-stone ob piousness. But dem apples don't seem ter git demselves straightened out in my mind, Brudder Gran'son."
To think that one of my blood, my own gran'son, should go to law! Why, by high heaven, Blenham, the thing's downright disgraceful!" Swiftly, deftly, employing a remark like a surgeon's lancet, Blenham offered: "I have the hunch that Temple girl put it in his head." "You're right!" This new suggestion required no weighing and fine balancing.
He took his seat at the wheel, his old black hat pushed far back on his head, his eye already on the clock in the dash. Terry slipped ahead of Doctor Bridges and took her seat at the old man's side. "You said just what?" she demanded icily. "I said," he cried savagely, "as I know how you been chasin' my fool of a gran'son Stephen, an' as how you got to stop it.
So take off dat bar skin, an' come 'long wid me. So you see Brudder Gran'son," continued 'Bijah, "dar's dif'rent kinds ob truf, an' you's got ter be mighty 'ticklar wot kind you sticks ter." "Git up," said Grandison to his drowsy horse, as he started him on another furrow. "Well, sir," said old Peter, as he came out on the porch with his pipe, "so you came here to go fishin'?"
"You're the guy I fed the other mornin', ain't you?" he asked. Steve nodded. "More'n which," continued the cook, "you're the guy as licked Woodsy las' night in Red Crick?" Again Steve nodded. "An' again you're claimin' to run the ranch here? An' to own it? An' to be ol' Hell-Fire's gran'son?" "I asked you where Woods was," Packard reminded him sharply.
"We war cowed down from the beginnin'," said Uncle Daniel, "but dese young folks ain't comin' up dat way." "No," said Salters, "fer one night arter some ob our pore people had been killed, an' some ob our women had run'd away 'bout seventeen miles, my gran'son, looking me squar in de face, said: 'Ain't you got five fingers?
You is be'n good ter me, suh, all dese years, an' I've tried ter do my duty by you, suh, an' by Mistuh Tom, who wuz yo' own gran'son, an' de las' one er de fam'ly." "Yes, you have, Sandy, and when I am gone, which will not be very long, Tom will take care of you, and see that you never want. But we are wasting valuable time, Sandy, in these old reminiscences. Let us get back to the present.
'Twill be a joy to my mother an' a gude gran'son to you, I hope." "Go home, go home," said Mr. Lyddon. "Get along with 'e this minute, an' tell your wife I'm greatly pleased, an' shall come to see her mighty soon. Let us knaw every day how she fares an' an' I'm glad as you called the laddie arter me. 'Twas a seemly thought."
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