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Margaret-Mary in a diminutive blue dressing gown and infinitesimal slippers, with her curls brushed tidily up from the back of her neck and skewered with a hairpin, came over and laid her hand on his knee. "Dus a 'itte 'tory?" she asked ingratiatingly. She adored stories. He picked her up, and she curled herself into the corner of his arm. Her mother found her there.
I, like a fool, when I believed she would never speak to me again, entangled myself also. Now, Aun' Sheba, what I wish is that you say nothing to any one of what you have seen and heard. We've got to do what's honorable at every cost to ourselves." "Dus wot's hon'ble mean dat Missy Mara got ter mar'y Marse Bodine an you de limpsey-slimpsey one wot say you 'serted her?"
Old Tom Smallways paused impressively. "And then?" said Teddy. "It all fell to dus'. White dus'!" He became still more impressive. "We didn't touch no more of them books that day. Not after that." For a long time both were silent. Then Tom, playing with a subject that attracted him with a fatal fascination, repeated, "All day long they lie still as the grave." Teddy took the point at last.
"A jack-mer-lantern," said he. "And what is that?" I asked. "It's a sperit. I ceed dem ebery nite, an' when I go to kotch one dey ain't nobody." "Then you believe in spirits?" "Yes, sar; dat I dus. When I pass Paradise Old Field I kin always see dem." "Have you ever been told anything about the ball of fire and Jack-mer-lantern, as you call them?" "Yes, sir; dat I hab."
We's gonter git somewhar an' they ain't no use'n worryin' whar. You go down an' set on the po'ch an' I'll pack yo' things an' I'll do it as good as anybody an' we'll crope out'n here in the mawnin' befo' Marse Bob an' Miss Milly's dus' air settled on the pike.
"My name is Tobias, but dey call me 'Toby." "Well, Toby, or Mr. Tobias, if dat will suit you better, you is now twenty-three years old, an no more. Dus you hear dat?" "Yes," responded Toby. Pompey gave each to understand how old he was to be when asked by persons who wished to purchase, and then reported to his master that the "old boys" were all right.
"Bray vhat might be der age of das laty dat you callet olt young missus?" asked my uncle. "Gosh! she nutten but gal born sometime just a'ter ole French war. Remember her well 'nough when she Miss Dus Malbone. Young masser Mordaunt take fancy to her, and make her he wife." "Vell, I hopes you hafn't any objection to der match?"
W'en de wah broke out, de school stop', en de ole school-'ouse be'n stannin' empty ever sence, dat is, 'cep'n' fer de ha'nts. En folks sez dat de ole school-'ouse, er any yuther house w'at got any er dat lumber in it w'at wuz sawed out'n de tree w'at Sandy wuz turnt inter, is gwine ter be ha'nted tel de las' piece er plank is rotted en crumble' inter dus'."
Empty and silent stood the little house, like the dwelling of the Three Talking Bears, and little Tot might have been Silver Hair herself. "Dwandma, dwandma!" she called. But no grandmamma replied. "Perhaps she has dus dorn out a minute," thought she. "I'll det up on dis lounge and tover dis shawl over me, and s'prise her when she tums back." Something else besides the shawl covered Tot's eyes.
"It was, indeed," replied the venerable woman, with a touch of melancholy in her tones; "but the revolution took place many, many a long year since!" "Well, now, I be surprise, Miss Dus!