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That allusion to her golden charms drove the youthful graces of Victoria quite out of Dolf's head. He grew more tender and submissive at once. "Yer's de pearl ob de creation!" he cried enthusiastically.
Victoria looked at Dolf, and he looked at her, but, however convincing her own words might have seemed to Clorinda, there was nothing to throw any light upon their minds. "Yer's repeatin' wid yer usual knowledge," said Dolf, softly, "but can't yer sperficate a leetle more clear." "Mr.
Berry!" he continued, speaking to himself, "yer's jest a gran' rascal, an' desarve ter be whacked roun' an' go hungry fer " "Berry," interrupted Mollie, "have you had your breakfast?" "Brekfas', Miss Mollie?" said Berry, "what Berry want ob any brekfas'? Ain't what yer's been a-tellin' on him brekfas' an' dinner an' supper ter him? Brekfas' don't matter ter him now.
Alston was wondering what he had said that was disrespectful, when the man added, "Won't have none yer sahrin' uv me. I's yer moster, an' that's what yer's got ter call me, I let yer know." Alston's blood was up, but the slaves were used to self-repression. All that was endurable in their lives depended on patience and submission. "Beg poddon, moster," Alston said with well-assumed meekness.
As for Joe the black boy, he knew how to make himself useful in any command, as a servant, and he was resolved to follow Sam's fortunes, wherever they might lead. "You see Mas' Sam," he said, "you'n Mas' Tommy might git yer selves into some sort o' scrape or udder, an' then yer's sho' to need Joe to git you out. Didn't Joe git you out 'n dat ar fix dar in de drifpile more'n a yeah ago?
He had discovered the Old Man's rifle in the corner, where it had been at first overlooked. "He ain't gone yet, gentlemen for yer's his rifle," he broke in, with a feverish return of volubility, and a high excited falsetto. "He wouldn't have left this behind. No! I knowed it from the first. He's just outside a bit, foraging for wood and water. No, sir!
"If you won't believe it, look here!" said the man, drawing out a paper; "this yer's the bill of sale, and there's your master's name to it; and I paid down good solid cash for it, too, I can tell you, so, now!" "I don't believe Mas'r would cheat me so; it can't be true!" said the woman, with increasing agitation. "You can ask any of these men here, that can read writing.
But how is it, dis yer whole lot gwine tomorrow?" said Sambo, laying his hand freely on Adolph's shoulder. "Please to let me alone!" said Adolph, fiercely, straightening himself up, with extreme disgust. "Law, now, boys! dis yer's one o' yer white niggers, kind o' cream color, ye know, scented!" said he, coming up to Adolph and snuffing.
Now, says I, 'Cato, de ole Doctor's gwine to be married, an' dis yer's his quiltin'-cake, an' Miss Mary, she's gwine to be married, an' dis yer's her quiltin'-cake. An' dar'll be eberybody to dat ar quiltin'; an' ef de cake a'n't right, why, 'twould be puttin' a candle under a bushel.
I've got no home to go to, now." "Tell her all you remember. Tell her not to tell Ellenory any of my troubles. Tell her I'm a-startin' for Pangymonum, an', if I die, it's nothin' but a bachelor keepin' his own solitary company. Yer's a gold piece an' three silver pieces I found, Mary, to pay your way. Good-bye." "Won't you give me your knife?" asked the woman. "What fur, Mary?"