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I felt ez hot ez ef I wuz danglin' ovah thet pit myse'f; an' ef one o' the angels hed happened to peep ovah the battermints o' heaven et thet minit, he'd been scorched hisse'f by the billers o' flame whut riz mountain high frum thet sea o' tormint.
Her blazing eyes darted from the face of one sister to the face of the other, reading their looks. "Uh-huh!" she snorted. "I mout 'a' knowed he'd be de ver' one to come puttin' sech notions ez dem in you chillens' haids. Well, ma'am, an' whut, pray, do he want?" Her words fairly dripped with sarcasm.
"It air shorely hard to see," said one in a low, slow voice, "why she was taken, 'n1 him left; why she should hev to give her life fer the life he took. But He knows, He knows," the mountaineer continued, with unfaltering trust; and then, after a moment's struggle to reconcile fact with faith: "The Lord took whut He keered fer most, 'n' she was ready, 'n' he wasn t.
Li'l black Mose he jest drap on he knees an' he beg an' pray: "Oh, 'scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost!" he beg. "Ah ain't mean no harm at all." "Whut for you try to take my head?" as' de ghost in dat fearsome voice whut like de damp wind outen de cellar. "'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" beg li'l Mose. "Ah ain't know dat was yo' head, an' I ain't know you was dar at all. 'Scuse me!"
His experienced eye appraised Red Hoss' muscular proportions. "Do you want a job?" "Whut kinder job, boss?" "Best job you ever had in your life," declared the white man. "You get fourteen a week and cakes. Get me? Fourteen dollars just as regular as Saturday night comes, and your scoffing free all the chow you can eat thrown in.
It seems, frum whut they write, that your uncle, by name Daniel O'Day, died not very long ago without issue that is to say, without leavin' any children of his own, and without makin' any will. "It appears he had eight thousand pounds saved up. Ever since he died those lawyers and some other folks over there in Ireland have been tryin' to find out who that money should go to.
"Dern it all, Pete, I 'm blamed if I know; leastwise, I ain't got no sure prove-up. I tell ye thet girl's just about the toughest piece o' rock I ever had any special call to assay. I think first I got her good an' proper, an' then she drops out all of a sudden, an' I lose the lead. It's mighty aggravating let me tell ye. Ye see it's this way. "Rescue her from whut, Jack?
An' dat li'l' black Mose so skeered he jes fall' down on a' old log whut dar an' screech' an' moan'. An' all on a suddent de log up and spoke: "Get offen me! Get offen me!" yell' dat log. So li'l' black Mose he git' offen dat log, an' no mistake. An' soon as he git' offen de log, de log uprise, an' li'l' black Mose he see' dat dat log am de king ob all de ghostes.
"Scarlet sage," repeated June. "An' that?" "Nasturtium, and that's Oriental grass." "Nas-tur-tium, Oriental. An' what's that vine?" "That comes from North Africa they call it 'matrimonial vine." "Whut fer?" asked June quickly. "Because it clings so." Hale smiled, but June saw none of his humour the married people she knew clung till the finger of death unclasped them.
Her free hand played with one of the big buttons on the front of her starched linen skirt and she looked, not at him, but at the shining disk of pearl, as he said: "Well, Emmy Lou, whut brings you 'way out here to my house in the heat of the day?" She turned her face full upon him then and he saw the brooding in her eyes and gave her hand a sympathetic little squeeze.
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