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Updated: June 18, 2025
He dived into the basket as he heard Troup's familiar whistle, and thrust the pieces into a breast pocket. In a moment he remembered that Betsey's head would be pillowed upon that pocket at five in the afternoon, and he hastily extracted the mutilated letter, and applied a match to it, consigning women to perdition. Troup sniffed as he entered the room. "Violets and burnt paper," remarked he.
Then she added with a snort: "Hit's es black es er crow's foot." "Is it Betsey's baby?" "I reckon'tis. Moses he says ez what'tis, but he's de mos' outlandish nigger on dis yer place. Dar ain' no relyin' on him, noways." "When did it come, Delphy? Who brought it? I saw Dr. Debs yesterday, an' his saddle-bag bulged mightily." "De Lawd didn't brung hit," returned Delphy emphatically.
Bessie sobbed hysterically for a few moments, while the Stern face bending over her relaxed in its severity, and Miss Betsey's voice was very kind and soothing, as she said: "There, there, child; don't get up a headache. I am glad you like the room; glad you are here. You had better go to bed, and not come down again."
The next morning just as daylight was beginning to be visible, Jerry knocked softly at Aunt Betsey's door, telling her that for more than an hour he'd heard the young lady takin' on, and he guessed she was worse.
'You'll make yourself ill, said Miss Betsey, 'and you know that will not be good either for you or for my god-daughter. Come! You mustn't do it! This argument had some share in quieting my mother, though her increasing indisposition had a larger one. There was an interval of silence, only broken by Miss Betsey's occasionally ejaculating 'Ha! as she sat with her feet upon the fender.
"We don't want no impiousness at this here shuckin', Tim," observed William Ming, who occupied the position of host in Betsey's absence about the more important matter of supper. "You fill up with cider an' go at that thar pile befo' you."
Betsey's dream had come true: she was an angel! What a blessed thing it is to have a good grandmother! Sophy had one. Sophy loved to go and see her. It was in the country where Grandmother Scott lived, just a pleasant ride from Sophy's home; in a good, old-fashioned farm-house, with green moss growing out of the sloping roof, shaded by trees that looked a century old.
'It's a 'appiness to know as one can benefit the poor sweet creetur, she observed, 'I'm sure. It isn't all as can. The torters Betsey Prig inflicts is frightful! Closing her eyes as she made this remark, in the acuteness of her commiseration for Betsey's patients, she forgot to open them again until she dropped a patten.
Oh, yes, He would be kinder than we can ever know." His friend turned and looked at him sharply, and noticed for the first time the unusual radiance of his face. "Aye?" he inquired. "It would be aboot Betsey's lads." Duncan nodded, his face aglow. "Donal'." "An' what aboot him?"
The next day, which was Saturday, Lucy was unusually kind to her cousin, giving her a collar, offering to fix her cap, and doing numerous other little things, which greatly astonished Berintha. At last, when dinner was over, she said, "Come, cousin, what do you say to a sleigh ride this afternoon? I haven't been down to Elizabeth Betsey's in a good while, so suppose we go to-day."
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