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Sometimes a body can't tell whedder you's a sayin' what you means or whedder you's a sayin' what you don't mean, 'case you says 'em bofe de same way." "But how should I know whether they were boys or girls?" 'Sides, don't it call 'em de HE-brew chil'en? If dey was gals wouldn't dey be de SHE-brew chil'en? Some people dat kin read don't 'pear to take no notice when dey do read."
There is no telling what he would have done in such a case as that. The doctor found out, for he quietly shifted his last question over Dab's left shoulder, and let it fall upon Dick in such a way as not to scare him. "You's got me, dis time! Dat's de berry place whar we stopped at de end of our school, las' year." "Then, I think I know about where it's best for you to begin.
I made fast and laid down under Jim's nose on the raft, and began to gap, and stretch my fists out against Jim, and says: "Hello, Jim, have I been asleep? Why didn't you stir me up?" "Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck? En you ain' dead you ain' drownded you's back agin? It's too good for true, honey, it's too good for true. Lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o' you.
"Wang tell Mis' Pen'plok'," he would mutter, with a threatening glance from his beady eyes. "Ol' mis' won' believe you," Janey would make answer. "She knows dat you's a heathen, an' won' go to church. Cut off your great long plat, ef you don' wan' me to pull it no mo'. I cyarn' help it, ef it gits in my way, all de time."
Oberjoyed to see you lookin' so fresh. Just looked in to ax how you's gettin' along." Need we say that Peter's warning word was not thrown away on Hester Sommers, who was seated in her corner embroidering with gold thread a pair of red morocco slippers.
Why, you's the chap that don't believe in miracles.... Fact is, this is another of your silly conjuring tricks that's what this is. Now, I tell you " But Mr. Fotheringay never heard what Mr. Winch was going to tell him. He realised he had given himself away, flung his valuable secret to all the winds of heaven. A violent gust of irritation swept him to action.
"And I've got some beau-fler flowers to my auntie's house. Wake up wake up!" added she, blowing open a pink rose-bud; "you's too little for me." But the bud did not wish to wake up and be a rose; it curled itself together, and went to sleep again. "I don't see where Hollis stays to all the time," exclaimed the little one, beginning to have a faint curiosity about it.
"Don't you let him go, ole marse! he's one nasty, 'ceitful, lyin', white nigger as ebber libbed! He did do it, and he needn't 'ny it, not while I'm standin' here! Don't you let him go, ole marse! he's cunnin' as de debbil, and he'd run away, sure as ebber you's born! You take my 'vice and don't you let him go! he artful as ole Sam!" "Katie, Katie, Katie!" remonstrated Ishmael, in a low voice.
Den ole Sent Peter he sings out: 'Look h'yar, uncle, whar you gwine? Dar ain't no cullud gal'ry in dis 'stablishment. You's got to come in dis same gate wid de udder folks. So de cullud angel he come up to de gate, but he kin' a hung back till de udders had got in. Jus' den 'long comes a white angel on hossback, wot was in a dreffle hurry to git in to de gate.
Her mother would press the water from her dripping locks, and turn the soft, glossy hair in short, smooth curls over her fingers, put on the new frock, and then set her out before her admiring eyes, and exclaim in her fond motherly pride, "You's a purty cretur, honey. You dun know noffin how yer mudder lubs ye."
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