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You'se free, Uncle Sheba, an' dere ain't a man in Charleston dat kin hender you from goin' to work termorrow." "I reckon I'se try ter git a wink ob slepe, Kern," responded Uncle Sheba plaintively. "My narbes been so shook up dat my rheumatiz will be po'ful bad for a spell." Kern knew the futility of further words, and also betook himself to rest.
"But, my dear friend, I do not know how to charm, and don't think it would do the slightest good. Doctors are not allowed to do such things." He was evidently very much put out, and turning round to go, said, "I knows why you'se won't charm her. It's because I'm a Roman Catholic." "Nonsense. If you really think that it would do any good, come along.
Hunter had sunk into a kind of stupor rendering her unconscious of what was passing, and therefore they conversed in low tones. "I reckon we need have no secrets from Aun' Sheba," said Mrs. Bodine. "No," answered Mara, taking her old mammy's hand. "If ever a motherless girl had a true friend I have one in Aun' Sheba." "Yes, honey, you'se right dar, an' I hopes you git right on some oder tings.
His only reply was the sullen, impassive expression he usually turned toward the world. As the doctor rode away, Hannibal joined him, saying: "Mr. Lacey, you'se a friend in need, and if you only knowed what an angel you'se servin', you wouldn't look so cross." "Do I look cross?" asked Arden, his face becoming friendly in a moment.
"Dat's so Clump not ole nuff ter know dat fire-lite more good dan lam-lite. Hi! hi! he only chile yit." Drake interrupted there, to turn the conversation into another channel, by saying that we should leave the old house soon to go back to Bristol, and Clump asked, having taken a seat on the wood-box directly under the trap-door, "An you'se glad glad?
"Rantin' 'roun' 'mong fine folks doan seem to 'gree wid you, honey," old Aunt Dilsey said one morning when she found Betsy in the parlor, her hands folded listlessly on the unheeded sewing in her lap, as she gazed dreamily before her. "You'se all onsettled sence you'se come home.
"I'se shuah Massa Philip won' let 'em sell Dinkie, or lash her either," and putting her apron over her face the woman began to cry. "He won't! I heard him say he wouldn't have it," Sylvia assured her eagerly. "Don't cry, Dinkie," and she patted the woman's arm. Dinkie let her apron fall and looked eagerly at Sylvia. "You'se the little Yankee missy, ain't you?" she questioned.
Anyhow, dishyers no time fer tradin'; de blame niggers all off dere coco-nuts. Anybody fink you'se payin' off 'stead o' shippin', an' deyse all afraid dey won't get 'nough." Unpleasant as the job was to all of us, it had to be done; so we armed ourselves with ropes'-ends, which we flourished threateningly, avoiding where possible any actual blows.
Well, you see dey ain't no doctor here an' we can't git one to come here neither. So we must take Mas' Sam to whar' dey is doctors, do you see?" "That's all very well," said Tom, "but how are we to do that?" "Now you'se hurryin' me again, Mas' Tom. Dat's just what I'se a-comin' to.
"Laws, honey, you'se de livin' image of yer Pa." She excused herself after a few moments and Evadne laid her head against the cushions of a comfortable old rocking chair and rested. She wondered sometimes where her old strength had gone. She had never felt tired in Barbadoes. The tiny room was full of a homely comfort which did her heart good.
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