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Yours is a heart that laughter cheers, Mine is a hearts that's full of tears. "Whew!" said Gale, slipping out of his pack-straps, "the skeeters is bad." "You bet your gum boots," said Poleon. "Dey're mos' so t'ick as de summer dey kill Johnnie Platt on de Porcupine."
Lee's face told them nothing. "Where is he?" he asked presently. "Mos' likely down to the Jailbird," said Billy, Young. "That's where he hangs out lately." Lee turned and went out, Carson at his heels, all eyes following him. In his heart was a blazing, searing rage. And that rage was not for Quinnion alone.
It's mos' seven o'clock. I've had my supper at the Quarter with Aunt Daphne. The scarlet beans over her door are in bloom, and Uncle Mingo told me about the rabbit and the fox. Miranda is going to put me to bed because Mammy Chloe is busy in the blue room with the doctor and the man whose horse threw him." Uncle Edward put his one arm around the child and drew her close to his chair.
Qui mos animaduertendi ipsis etiam in Christianos seruos domi familiaris esse dicitur. Post carnificinam huiusmodo, si durior dominus illis contigerat, viuos in totam noctem collo tenus defodiebant, presentissimum illud ad plagas remedium esse ludibrio dictitantes.
She had counted the child's age. She had thought enough for that. "How far is Pineyville?" "I doan' know. It took mos' all night to git here." There was no change in the listless monotone. "Are you going out now?" "Yes, soon's I kin git ready." "How are you going to get home?" "Walk, I reckon." There was no complaint in her tone, no sudden exhibition of any suffering. She was only stating facts.
Besides, she ginerally bakes Thursdays, an' mos' likely she'll have some hot gingerbread. I'm partic'larly fond of gingerbread, an' she does know how to make it about the best of anybody I know on. You needn't wait supper for me, Cynthy Ann, for ef I don't find Mis' Forbes to home I'll go on to Mis' Frost's." Mrs.
We goin' be late. I 'mos' keel dem dog." Linton's seamed face softened; it cracked into a smile of genuine pleasure; there was real hospitality and welcome in his voice when he said: "You're in luck, for sure. Lay off your things and pull up to the fire. It won't take a jiffy to parlay the ham and coffee one calls three, as they say.
Miss Molly tells me my own boy John have got his freedom mos out, an' he's comin' to find me. I can't wait, Mas'r Louis; 'pears like a day'll be a year. I mout die, he mout die too. I'll sen' him my buryin' money, an' ef tant enough, can't you sen' a little more? an' I'll work it out, I will, sure, an' no mistake; fur de sake of the right, Mas'r Louis, an' for to make my ole heart glad.
"Thank you, Miss Terry," said Royce quietly. "I sorta evened up things with him. Not quite. But sorta. Then you didn't want me?" "Not this trip, Bill. It's just a play of Mr. Packard's here. He didn't like to have it known that I had him all alone here; afraid it might compromise him, you know." She giggled. "Or queer him with his girl, mos' likely!" chuckled Royce.
The Persimmon, with his protruding, half-asleep eyes, was saying: "I don' know, Peter, as I 's so partic'lar 'bout makin' de mos' out'n dis worl'. You know de Bible say hit say," here the Persimmon's voice dropped a tone lower, in unconscious imitation of negro preachers, "la- ay not up yo' treasure on uth, wha moss do corrup', an' thieves break th'ugh an' steal."
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