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Den one night we comin' back to camp, old boss feel good. Skeep along lak small sheep. By gar, he's feel too good! He's fall in crik. Dat's noting. No! Good fire, plenty blanket make dat all right. But dat night I hear de ole boss groan, and cry, and turn overe and overe. Light de fire; give him one big drink wheesky. No good. He's go bad all dat night. Nex' day he's het noting.
And thanne un to Mount Modeyn: and thanne unto Jerusalem. And at the Mount Modeyn lythe the prophete Machabee. And overe Ramatha, ys the town of Douke; where of Amos the goude prophete was. A nother way.
"No, it will not to bed," replied Yonie. "Big work to-day, boss say. He not like men sick." "You hear me," said the doctor sharply. "You go back to bed. Where's your doctor?" "He slapes in the office between meals. Yonder," said Tommy, pointing the way. "Never mind now. Where are your sick men?" "De seeck mans?" replied the cook. "She's be hall overe. On de bunk-house, on de cook shed.
"Blank yer impudence," roared Carroll, "to be sittin' there laughin' in me face at the loss av me property. It's no better than a pack of thieves ye are." "Tieves!" answered Perault, in quick anger. "Dere's one beeg, black, hairy tief not far 'way dat's got hees money for dat pony two three tam overe."
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