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Updated: June 24, 2025
"When some men is getting religion there's no more inside at them than a gutted herring, and they're good for nothing but to put up in the chimley to smook." "It's Black Tom, woman," said Grannie. "Cæsar's freckened mortal of the man's tongue going. 'It's water to his wheel, he's saying. 'He'll be telling me to set my own house in order, and me a local preacher, too. But how's the man himself?"
"No, you musser," persisted Katie; "we've got a Santa Claw in our chimley; you musser go home." "It isn't for Santa Claus at all, darling it is for my papa and mamma's wedding. To stand up, so they can be married over again. Now kiss me, and let me go." "Her's goin' home to Kismus pie," remarked Katie, as she took her mournful way with her mamma to the house where they were visiting.
Only you may make your mind easy, and say I told you to it. If we was all of us to get into a perspiration whenever a board creaked or a bit of loose parging come down a chimley, we shouldn't have a minute's peace of our lives. Some parties is convinced of Ghosts the very first crack! Hysterical females in partic'lar." Mr.
My pappy built us a shack on dat lan'. It's tore down now, but it was built good. Us all he'ped. I pulled a cross-cut saw an' toted de boards up on de roof on a ladder. De chimley was built out o' mud an' rocks. Den us moved in an' started growin' us somp'in t'eat. Us didn' have no horse an' plow; Yankees done carried off all de horses an' mules an' burnt up ever'dthing lak plows.
He called them "pot" roots and sometimes he called them "blow horts". You know they wuld blow up big and fat when they were roasted in the ashes. "My uncle, he liked those blow horts mighty well, and one day, when he had some baked in the fireplace, Ole Massy Hoover, he came along and peeked in through the "hold" in de chimley wall, where the stones didn't fit too good.
I assure you I've not been able to empt them for several days, unless I throw 'em up the chimley or out of winder; for as sure as the sun you meet him at the door, coming to ask how you are, and 'tis such a confusing thing to meet a gentleman at the door when ye are in the mess o' washing." "'Tis only for want of knowing better, poor gentleman," said the tranter. "His meaning's good enough.
Ef ye want to find yerself, ye'd better start on down t' the south eend o' the Basin, 'n' negotiate around to leeward o' Leezur's bresh-heap; that's the d'rection yer ball was a-startin' for, las' time I seen 'er!" "Poo! poo!" said Captain Pharo, drawing a Sunday "parlor" match explosively along his boot-leg; "jest hold on thar, Shamgar. Jest hold on till I git my old chimley here a-goin' ag'in "
As for the book-shelf beside the chimley, sir exactly three foot three, sunk in a recess height, the third button o' my coat, capacity, fourteen books. You couldn't get another book on that shelf no, not if you tried with a sledge-hammer, or a hydraulic engine. Which is highly surprising when you consider that fourteen books is the true, and exact number of books as I possess."
"What would you wonder?" "I would wonder how muckle he paid." "But if he was a a minister, and keepit the flower say it was a common rose fond-like on his chimley, what would you think?" "I would think it was a black-burning disgrace for a minister to be fond o' flowers." "I dinna haud wi' that." "Jean," said Haggart, "I allow no one to contradict me." "It wasna my design.
An' wid that, my dear, he blazes away at him wid a Latin prayer iv the strongest description, an', as he said himself afterwards, that was iv a nature that id dhrive the divil himself up the chimley like a puff iv tobacky smoke, wid his tail betune his legs.
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