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Updated: June 26, 2025
For instance, now, when I coom here at first, there was a great shed in yon hollow; an' every mornin' th' men had to pass through that shed one after another, an' have their names booked for th' day. The result wur, that after they'd walked through th' shed, there was many on 'em walked out at t'other end o' th' moor straight into teawn a-playin' 'em.
For a few minutes the wife had gone out of the house, and she returned, breathlessly. "They is all laughin' down ter th' beach," she announced. "They is Frenchy's little bye, all wid' yeller curls, a-playin' wid our laddies, and Sammy Moore he've brung a barrel o' flour, and a box wid pork, and they is more tea and sugar. What d' yer think o' that?"
Mind yor hits! Aw 'm beawn to set it agate! An' then he went, an' wun th' organ up, an' it started a-playin' 'French; an' th' singers followed, as weel as they could, in a slattery sort of a way. But some on 'em didn't like it. They reckon't that they made nought o' singin' to machinery. Well, when th' hymn wur done, th' parson said, 'Let us pray, an' down they went o' their knees.
While us was dere I 'member de Klu Kluxers an' all de carryin' on. Dey would dress up in white sheets an' come 'roun' an' scare all de Niggers. Dey'd whip de bad ones. Some of 'em would git cow horns an' put on dey heads. One time dey chased a Nigger plumb under de house jus' a-playin' wid 'im. Dey was a-bellowin' jus' lak bulls. "I can't read an' write.
"It ain't no business o' mine, but it sorter strikes me that you chaps are a-playin' it just a little too fine this time! It ain't three miles from Three Pine Station and forty men. Of course, that's your lookout, not mine!" The audacity of the thing had evidently struck even the usually taciturn and phlegmatic driver into his first expostulation on record.
"But what have the moon and I to do with each other, Ancient?" "Old I be, Peter, a old, old man, but I were young once, an' I tell 'ee the moon 'as a lot more to do wi' it than some folks think why, Lord love 'ee! theer wouldn't be near so many children a-playin' in the sun if it wasn't for the moon!" "Ancient," said I, "what might you be driving at?" "Love, Peter!"
The Hon. Sam was an ardent disciple of Sir Walter Scott: "Well, just now the mayor is a-playin' Gurth to that little runt for costs." Outside, the wheels of the stage rattled, and as half a dozen strangers trooped in, the Hon. Sam waved his hand: "Things is comin'." Things were coming. The following week "the booming editor" brought in a printing-press and started a paper.
Jest a-playin'! Oh, she's a dog, skipper a dog, I tell ye! Drive her! She loves it!" "I'll drive her, Jimmie; don't you worry. Before I get through some fellers I know'll wish they'd never heard of driving." He motioned Pete Ellinwood aft with a free hand.
"Noa," drawled the carpenter; "Muster Bubbage beant here; doan't want un, nuther nuvver do moind a's owen business always jawin' volks. A beant here, an' doan't want un, nuther." Nick's heart went down. "And where is he?" "Who? Muster Bubbage? Whoy, a be-eth out to Zhoreditch, a-playin' at t' theater." "And where may Shoreditch be?" "Whur be Zhoreditch?" gaped the workman, vacantly.
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