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We'll take our lunch with us, and have a good time." "Is Dinah going?" asked Flossie. "Yes, I think we'll take her and Martha, too," said Mrs. Bobbsey, but when Flossie went to tell the colored cook the treat in store for her, Dinah cried: "'Deed an' I ain't gwine t' no circus.
Roxy said: "Now den, I'll tell you straight off, en I'll begin to k'leck de money later on; I ain't in no hurry. What does you reckon I's gwine to tell you?" "Well, you you oh, Roxy, don't make it too hard for me! Come right out and tell me you've found out somehow what a shape I'm in on account of dissipation and foolishness." "Disposition en foolishness! NO sir, dat ain't it.
Here he stopped suddenly, and asked, "Is you cole?" as he saw the Colonel shiver. He knew the Harrises were quar, and this dark-haired, dark-eyed child singing in a shrill, high-pitched, but very sweet voice, seemed to him uncanny, and he shrank from her as she said. "Me sing some mo'." Jake now interfered, saying, "No, honey; we're gwine to yer mother's grave."
"You must stay here." "Marse John," the old darky approached with a troubled look, "you never used to go on dese heah trips widout Zack! Ain' you gwine take 'im 'long? Dar ain' no one else is got de knack of holdin' you up ef you gits stung some, an' you knows it, Marse John!"
Maybe death, maybe fire, maybe nudder sale o some body. Gwine take 'em way. But when de bell ring dey had to come. Let dat ole bell ring and de woods was full o negroes. Maybe 500 hundred come from all over date county." Aunt Mollie was beginning to ramble and babble incoherently, her memories of her own and the experiences of others all confused in her mind.
I'm sure thet ef I thot the Rebels war gwine ter whip our men I'd never want ter see the sun rise ter-morrer. Good-by; we're all in the hands o' Him who seeth even the sparrer's fall." Fortner led the mare a little ways, to where he could get a good view, and then said: "Thet second line o' fires which ye see over thar is our lines them fires I mean which run up inter the woods.
She started up from her pillow, asking eagerly, "What is it, mammy? Oh! what is it? is my papa better?" "Yes, darling Massa Horace much better dis mornin'; de doctor say 'he gwine git well now for sartin, if he don't git worse again." "Oh, mammy! It seems too good to be true! Oh, how very, very good God has been to me!" cried the little girl, weeping for very joy.
"Lemme tell you dis," said the old man, laying down the section of horse-collar he had been plaiting, and looking hard at the little boy "lemme tell you dis der ain't no way fer ter make tattlers en tailb'arers turn out good. No, dey ain't. I bin mixin' up wid fokes now gwine on eighty year, en I ain't seed no tattler come ter no good een'. Dat I ain't.
Is you de Norv'n gemman w'at's gwine ter buy de ole vimya'd?" "I am looking at it," I replied; "but I don't know that I shall care to buy unless I can be reasonably sure of making something out of it." "Well, suh, you is a stranger ter me, en I is a stranger ter you, en we is bofe strangers ter one anudder, but 'f I 'uz in yo' place, I wouldn' buy dis vimya'd." "Why not?" I asked.
He 'uz gwine long de street one day, w'en he heared two gent'emen one of 'em was ole Mars' Tom Sellers an' I fuhgot de yuther but dey 'uz talkin' 'bout dat ole ha'nted house down by de creek, 'bout a mile from hyuh, on de yuther side er town, whar we went fishin' las' week. Does you 'member de place?" "Yes, I remember the house."
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