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He arose, put on his muffler and made ready to visit the sweep. On the way to the door another idea turned him back. He put on the bogman's overcoat and rabbit-skin cap. Anna, divining his intention, said: "That's th' first sign of sense I've see in you for a month of Sundays." "Ye cudn't see it in a month ov Easther Sundays, aanyway," he retorted with a superior toss of his head.
He say ole Marse Simcoe useter plug lead en silver right froo dat man dat want he darter, en dar was de hole en de light shin'in' froo hit. But de spook ain' min'in' a lil ting lak dat, he des come on all de same snoopin' roun' arter de ole man's darter. Den one mawnin' de ole man lay stiff en daid in he baid, he eyes starin' open ez ef he see sump'n he cudn't stan' no how.
Why cudn't ye gi' me a chance?" "I'm sorry, Flinders, but I couldn't well help it. The critter rose right in front o' me." "Vat a goot shote you is!" exclaimed the botanist riding back to them and surveying the prostrate deer through his blue spectacles. "Ay, and it's a lucky shot too," said Fred, "for our provisions are running low.
And when Jack saw and understood, a smile broke through his bloodshot, vengeful eyes as starlight falls on muddy waters, and he turned away his death-seeking aim, and his mouth trembled as he said: "Why it's it's the Little 'Un! I cudn't kill him " and he clutched at the cotton-bale as he went down, falling and Captain Tom grasped him, letting him down gently.
"He has more sense than any of our people." "That's no compliment t' Withero, Anna, but I was jist thinkin' about our case; we've got t' decide somethin' an' we might as well decide it here as aanywhere." "About religion, Jamie?" "Aye." "I've decided." "When?" "At the ant-hill." "Ye cudn't be Withero?" "No, dear, Willie sees only half th' world.
Ye'll not slape, and ye'll not warm up. Look at ye now. You've an ague." "I was sick at Limerick wan night," O'Brien hurried on, "an' the dochtor cudn't bleed me. But after slapin' a few hours an' gettin' warm in bed the blood came freely. It's God's truth I'm tellin' yez. Don't be murderin' me!" "His veins are open now," the captain said. "'Tis no use leavin' him in his pain.
Fate's cut yer heart in two an' oul Docther Time an' the care of God are about the only shure cures goin'." "Cudn't the ministher help a little if he was here, Anna?" "If ye think so I'll get him, 'Liza!" "He might put th' love of God in me!" "Puttin' th' love of God in ye isn't like stuffin' yer mouth with a pirta, 'Liza!" "That's so, it is, but he might thry, Anna!" "Well, ye'll haave 'im." Mr.
His voice was low and fierce, and all the more so because he knew that was just what he would do, and his heart was sick with the pain of the thought. "I say," said Yankee, suddenly, "cudn't bunk me in your loft, cud you! Can't stand the town. Too close."
An', by the Holy Articles av War, whin they wint aboard they cheered him till they cudn't spake, an' that, mark you, has not come about wid a draf in the mim'ry av livin' man! You look to that little orf'cer bhoy. He has bowils. 'Tis not ivry child that wud chuck the Rig'lations to Flanders an' stretch Peg Barney on a wink from a brokin an' dilapidated ould carkiss like mesilf.
"'Bout six feet high, I reckon, with a big hooked nose, an' the blackest pair o' mean eyes ever yer saw. I reckon he didn't hav' no eyebrows, an' he wore a bunch o' eagle feathers, an' a red blanket. Gosh' Mister, but the Devil cudn't look no worse'n he did." "Wus thet him, Cap?" burst in Tim, anxiously. "It's not a bad description," I admitted, yet not convinced.
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