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"Wash here, fust," said Rais, leading his friend to a small fountain in a retired angle of the court. "Ebbery body here too bizzy 'joyin' theirselfs to look to yoo. An' des corner dark. Me stan' 'tween you an' dem." "But who ever heard of a white Moor?" objected Ted. "Oh, lots of 'em 'alf-castes, almost white as you," said Rais.

Ef my eye ain't 'ceive me, dish yer's Brer Rabbit, en Brer Tarrypin, en ole Unk' Tommy Mud-Turkle, sez Brer B'ar, sezee. "'De same, sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'en yer we is 'joyin' de day dat passes des lak dey wa'n't no hard times. "'Well, well, well! sez ole Brer B'ar, sezee, 'a-slippin' en a-slidin' en makin' free! En w'at de matter wid Brer Rabbit dat he ain't j'inin' in? sezee.

The sudden light of joy that shone in Tom's face as he raised his hands to heaven, his emphatic "Bless the Lord!" rather discomposed St. Clare; he did not like it that Tom should be so ready to leave him. "You haven't had such very bad times here, that you need be in such a rapture, Tom," he said drily. "No, no, Mas'r! 'tan't that, it's bein' a freeman! that's what I'm joyin' for."

Ole Brer Tarrypin, he'd foller atter, en slide down inter de water kersplash! Ole Brer Rabbit, he sot off, he did, en praise um up. "W'iles dey wuz a-gwine on dis a-way, a-havin' der fun, en 'joyin' deyse'f, yer come ole Brer B'ar. He year um laffin' en holl'in', en he hail um. "'Heyo, folks! W'at all dis?

"It are a kind er lonesome life, Mis' Flannigan, an' dat 's a fac'. But sence I had de privilege er eatin' yo' cookin' an' 'joyin' yo' society, I ain' felt a bit lonesome." "Yer flatthrin' me, Misther Braboy. An' even if ye mane it" "I means eve'y word of it, Mis' Flannigan."

'You haven't had such a very bad time here that you need be in such rapture, Tom, he said. 'No, no, mas'r! tan't that. It's bein' a free man! That's what I'm joyin' for. 'Why, Tom, don't you think that you are really better off as you are? 'No, indeed, Mas'r St. Clare, said Tom, very decidedly; 'no, indeed.