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Onless it's young Mr. Kinzer. I hasn't a word to say 'gin him or Mr. Foster, or dat ar' young mish'nayry." "Glorianna," said Bill doubtfully, "do you s'pose Dick did all dat writin' his own self?" "Sho! Course he did! Don't I know his hand-writin'? Ain't he my own blessed boy? Guess he did, and I's goin' ober to show it to Mrs. Kinzer. It'll do her good to hear from de 'cad'my."
"I'm sorry he seen you, sho'!" the conductor said; "that's Henry A. Wise, the big lawyer from Accomac. Maybe he'll inquire at Snow Hill, where he's goin' to court." "What house is this, Mr. Hudson?" Virgie asked, seeing at the end of the short lane a thick-set house and porch, with small farm-buildings around it.
There is no ring on my hand, you rascal!" I said. "Yaas, suh; dey sho' is, Mars' George," he insisted, still chuckling. "I tell you I never wear a ring," I said, impatiently. "'Scuse me, Mars' George, suh," he said, humbly. And, lifting my left hand, laid it in his wrinkled, black palm, peering closely.
"Sho!" said Joshua. The Pike County man looked from one to the other to see what effect had been produced by his blood-curdling narration. Joshua looked rather perplexed, as if he didn't quite know what to think, but Joe seemed tranquil. "I think you said it happened last week," said Joe. "If I said so, it is so," said the Pike man, who in truth did not remember what time he had mentioned.
Siner was greatly surprised, and his heart warmed at the sight of his old playmate. "What have you been doing to yourself, Tump?" he cried, laughing, and shaking the big hand in sudden warmth. "You used to be the size of a dime in a jewelry store." "Been in 'e army, nigger, wha I's been fed," said the grinning brown man, delightedly. "I sho is picked up, ain't I?"
Wouldn't miss dat fo' my Christmas gift. I 'spect dat gal Virgie will come wid Miss Vesty to de cer'mony, marster." "Perhaps so. You are not thinking of love, too, Samson?" "Well, don't know, marster. Virgie's a fine gal, sho' I am a little old, Marster Milburn, but I'll have to look out for myseff, I 'spec, now you done burnt down my spreein' place. Dar's a wife comin' in yar now.
There were only three Indian log houses at that time in Little Traverse, one belonging to my uncle, Au-se-ge-nock, one for Joseph Au-saw-gon, my father's messenger, and another to Peter Sho- min. But we and all other Indians lived in wigwams, and all the Indians were dressed in Indian style. Rev. Mr.
Over in them Mashpaug woods, where you hail from, money kind of grows on the bushes, like huckleberries, I presume likely. Martha Phipps been over there berryin', has she?" "No, she ain't. Besides, I never said Miss Martha brought the money into the house. All's I said was that 'twas in there and I see it with my own eyes." "Sho! With your own eyes, eh? Well, well!
The little boy flooded his plate with syrup. "These-here 'lasses sho' is " he began, but instantly remembering that he must be more particular in his speech, he stammered out: "These-here sho' is am are a nice messer 'lasses. I ain't never eat sech a good bait.
Lemme git some fer you." "I never put hot water in my milk," said she, "it makes the butter puffy. Work more and talk less, William." Again there was a brief silence, broken only by the sound of the dasher thumping against the bottom of the churn, and the rattle of the dishes. "I sho' is tired," he presently remarked, heaving a deep sigh. "My arms is 'bout give out, Aunt Minerva.
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