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You ain't a-goin' to tell me the Freemasons' word, are ye? For, if so, don't trouble yourself, I wouldn't listen to it on no account w'atever. It's too mysterious that is for me." "Dick Price," said Corrie, looking up in the face of the seaman, with a serious expression that was not often seen on his round countenance, "you're a man."
To which observations Jemima, holding up her hands and gazing at her bosom friend in sympathy, would reply that her own sentiments was hidentically simular, that things in general was to her most amazin', and that there was no accountin' for nothin' in this life, but that w'atever came of it she 'oped the family would live long an' 'appy in a world, w'ich was, she must confess, a most perplexing mixture of good and evil, though of course she wasn't rightly able to understand or explain that, but she was sure of this anyhow, that, although she was by no means able to explain 'erself as well as she could wish, she knew that she wished well to every one who stuck to the golden rule like Mr and Mrs Osten.
You ain't a goin' to tell me the Freemason's word, are ye? For, if so, don't trouble yourself; I wouldn't listen to it on no account w'atever. It's too mysterious, that is, for me." "Dick Price," said Corrie, looking up in the face of the seaman, with a serious expression that was not often seen on his round countenance, "you're a man."
Carteret, alarmed at the frightened face of her aunt's old servitor. "O my Lawd, Mis' 'Livy, my Lawd, my Lawd! My legs is trim'lin' so dat I can't ha'dly hol' my han's stiddy 'nough ter say w'at I got ter say! O Lawd have mussy on us po' sinners! W'atever is gwine ter happen in dis worl' er sin an' sorrer!" "What in the world is the matter, Dinah?" demanded Mrs.
"But dere's somethin' gwine on in dere, dere sho' is! 'No nigger damnation! Dat soun's all right, I'm sho' dere ain' no nigger I knows w'at wants damnation, do' dere's lots of 'em w'at deserves it; but ef dat one-eyed Cap'n McBane got anything ter do wid it, w'atever it is, it don' mean no good fer de niggers, damnation'd be better fer 'em dan dat Cap'n McBane!
W'atever little game may 'ave brought you 'ere, sir, it ain't poverty an' nobody will be fool enough in this 'ouse to believe it is." "You are right, Zook. I'm sorry I forgot myself," returned Charlie, with a sigh. "After all, it does not matter much, for I fear my little game as you call it was nearly played out, and it does not seem as if I were going to win."
The former, observing them, kicked up their heels, and dashed away into the mountains. The latter, a handsome creature, the size of an average pony and fleet as a stag, bounded into the jungle. "No use going after these," said Rivers, with a wistful gaze. "No, sir, none w'atever." "Better keep to the jungle and be ready next time," said the young sportsman. "We mustn't talk, Jerry."
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