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Mother took it herself. She was rocking, and softly singing my Dutch song that I loved best; I can't spell it, but it sounds like this: "Trus, trus, trill; Der power rid der fill, Fill sphring aveck, Plodschlicter power in der dreck."
"No," said Squire Pleasants, his experience appealed to instead of his judgment; "no, I ain't, that's a fact; but some folks youer bleege to take on trus'." Further comment on the part of Poteet and the others was arrested by the appearance of Woodward, who came out of his room, walked rapidly down the narrow hallway, and out upon the piazza.
You got picshurs them thing what flies. You tell me you don't say nothing for my brother when I'm tell you that things sets over there." He waved a dirty, brown hand to the southward. "Me, I'm trus' you. Tha's secret what I'm tell. You don't tell no-body. You promise?" "All right. I promise." Very gravely Johnny made the sign of the cross over his heart. Tomaso's eyes lightened at that.
And that's all he says. I hope you'll hear all about that to-morrow." "Oh, any'ow tha'z the bes' of news!" Castanado said, kissing his wife's hand and each temple. "Doubtlezz he's find some lovely orphan of that hideouz war; we can trus' his good sense, our son. But, Mélanie, he muz' have been sick, away from the front, to make that courtship." "I do not know.
He's kinder brash, but I knows yo' powers, Mistah Johnson, en I reckon ef anybody kin make 'im toe de ma'k, you is de man. "Mars Johnson grin' one er dem grins w'at show' all his snaggle teef, en make de niggers 'low he look lack de ole debbil, en sezee ter Mars Dunkin: "'I reckon you kin trus' me, Mistah Dunkin, fer ter tame any nigger wuz eber bawn.
"Miss Lou, I declar ter you I'se been smokin' en projeckin' ober dat mos' all night." "Well?" "Hit 'pears ter me a orfully mux-up question. Yere yo' gyardins, ole mars'r en ole miss. Dey's des had dere gay on dis plantashon sence I wuz a gyurl. You wuz trus' ter dem ter be took keer on en you tole me how he manage yo' prop'ty. He call you he ward. I des dunno w'at po'r dat ward business gib 'im.
Diplomatic Peking is a great, silent battle-ground; on the surface Oriental politeness and suave political courtesies but underneath a seething sea of strife. The Chinese attitude toward all this reminds me of a story I heard long ago. Two negroes were discussing a negro girl. "Trus' dat niggah?" said one; "trus' dat niggah? I wouldn't trus' her 'hind a cornstalk!"
But I'll trus' yer; yer ain' de one ter bite yer own nose off. Does yer see dat ar ring, Suky? Law! how pretty dat look on yer degaged finger!" "'Tain' dar yet." "Lemme put it dar. Ki! wouldn't dey look an' gape an' pint in dar yonder w'en yer come a-sailin' in wid dat ring on?" "Yes; dey tink me a big fool ter be captivated by a ring brass, too, like anuff."
March, Jan, Aunt Chloe, and several of the neighbors from across the river had assembled to see them off, and many and hearty were the good wishes offered for a pleasant journey and a safe return in the fall. "Good-bye, Misto Mark an' Missy Rufe," said Aunt Chloe; "trus' in de Lo'd while you's young, an' he ain't gwine fo'git yo' in yo' ole age."
I waited on de missus an' de young ladies, an' Zeb was kep' in de house too, 'kase he was lame and 'kase dey could trus' him wid eberyting an' dey knew it.
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