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Before he could speak I had my arms around him, and he sank to his knees in my embrace. He was breathing heavily. "Tired out thet's whut's the matter," he muttered, leaning over on one hand. "Come through the woods t' save yer life, I did, an' they was tight up t' me all the way." "Poor fellow!" said the baroness, who stood at the door. "Help him in at once and give him a sip of brandy."
"Oh, is yo' goin', Massa Tom?" asked the colored man, turning his bandaged head in the direction of the beloved voice. "Yes. I'm going to try out a new scheme of mine the fire extinguisher, you know." "De same one whut fizzed up, an' an' busted me in de eyes, Massa Tom?" "Yes, Rad, I'm sorry to say, it's the same one." "Oh, shucks now, Massa Tom! whut's use worryin'?" laughed Rad.
In the intensity of my feelings I must have unconsciously spoken aloud, for a shaggy head suddenly popped out from the berth beneath where I lay, and an interested voice asked solicitously: "Hy, thar; whut's up, mate? Sick agin?" "No," I answered, grinning rather guiltily, "just thinking, and letting loose a bit. Did I disturb you?"
"It's my opinion," concluded she, "that it's the fools, beggin' youah pahdon, whut's goin' out theah to grow up with the country, and the wise peepul whut's stayin' at home and advisin' of 'em to go." Celia shuddered. "I'm ha'f afraid to go," she said. "They say the wind blows all the time out theah. They say it nevah quits blowin'."
"A feller whut's goin' ter enlist. He's all right, Jack," the deputy hiccoughed thickly. "Les' liquor, an' then we'll eat. I'm payin' the bill so whut the hell is it ter yer?" "Nuthin' 'tall; eny frien' o' yers gits ther best I hav'. Corn liquor, I reckon?"
"How many signers did you git?" inquired Rogers that night when the family were again assembled around the fire. "Forty-three down, four more doubtful, and two more promised conditionally." "Who air the conditionals?" "The Hinkson children." "Whut's Bushrod Hinkson mekin' conditions fur, I'd lak to know?" exclaimed Mrs. Rogers. "I'll bet it's jes' his stinginess.
He looked up, and saw a negro girl of about fourteen coming down the curved street, with long, quick steps and an occasional glance over her shoulder. From across the thoroughfare a small chocolate-colored woman, with her wool done in outstanding spikes, thrust her head out at the door and called: "Whut's de matter, Ofeely?"
But I ain't ever asted him, and whut's more, I never will. He ain't the kind you could go to him astin' him personal questions about his own private affairs. We-all here in town just accept him fur whut he is and sort of let him be. He's whut you might call a town character. His name is Mr. Dudley Stackpole."
"Aunt Lucy," said Mary Ellen, "do you suppose we could ever raise a garden?" "Whut's dat, chile raise er gyarden? Kain't raise no gyarden out yer, noways." "I was just thinking may be we could have a garden, just a little one, next year." "Hit don' never rain ernuf, chile, in this yer country." "I know, but couldn't we use the water from the well?
"Jason," said the old man sternly, "whut's the matter out hyeh?" Marjorie pointed one finger at Mavis, started to speak, and stopped. Jason's eyes fell. "Nothin'," he said sullenly, and Colonel Pendleton looked to his son with astonished inquiry, and the lad's fine face turned bewildered and foolish. "I don't know, sir," he said at last. "Don't know?" echoed the colonel. "Well "
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