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Updated: May 3, 2025
She just froze to me like a person drowning, and that husband of hers, who had come up on the last car, hunting for his wife, who had eloped, pulled a long blue gun and told me he would give me five minutes to pray, and then he would kill me and throw my body down in the creater, to sizzle."
"It was a long time afore the driver succeeded in bringin' Jeanie to hersel'; an' she had only jest unclosed her een, when Willie cam' in. "'Wife, he said, 'whose cart is this standin' at the door? an' what do these people want here? "'You ken best, cried the angry woman. 'That creater is nae acquaintance o' mine; an' if she is suffered to remain here, I will quit the house.
Be these folks you tell of young?" asked Mrs. Wilkins, with evident relish for the mystery. "No, the woman is past thirty, and the man 'most forty, I believe," said Christie, darning away in some trepidation at having taken the first plunge. "My patience! ain't the creater old enough to know her own mind? for I s'pose she's the one in the quanderry?" exclaimed Mrs.
She's as pretty as a pink white complected, with wavy, golden hair and sweet, rosy lips and cheeks. And I sez, "Yes, you dear little creater, you may call me aunt in welcome, and we be related in a way," sez I. Sez Miss Meechim, "We shall consider it a great boon if you go with us. And dear little Tommy, it will add greatly to the pleasure of our trip.
"Ah, to be sure one of the hunder gardeners as I put on three or four weeks ago." "Yes, please, sir." "Little girl, what are you a-doin' in that garden? Why are you wandering in the vicinity of this mansion?" "Please, I'm looking for Hermy." "'Ermy?" repeated Mr. Brimberly, "'Ermy? Wot kind of creater may that be? Is it a dog? Is it a cat? Wot is it?" "It's only my Princess Nobody, sir!"
"It's only my gorgeeyus fancy playin' aroun' the facts an' touchin' 'em up with gold an' silver lights. A hoe cake is nothin' but a hoe cake to Saplin' thar, but to me it's somethin' splendid to look at an' to eat, the support o' life, the creater o' muscle an' strength an' spirit, a beautiful thing that builds up gran' specimens o' men like me, somethin' that's wrapped up in poetry."
"He's sleeping yit, poor creater," continued the hostess, as she bent over the bed of our hero, until he felt her breath upon his face. "I hope it arn't a going to be his final sleep so young, and so handsome too! but, O dear, thar's no telling what them Injen bullets will do, for folks does say as how they have a knack o' pizening them, that's orful to tell on!
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