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"Most time f'r the Elder to come, ain't it?" "Oh, I guess he's preparin' a sermon." John Jennings pushed anxiously to Daddy Brown. "Ain't the Elder comin'?" "I d'know. He didn't stay at my house." "He didn't?" "No. Thought he went home with you." "I ain't see 'im 't all. I'll ask Councill. Brother Councill, seen anything of the Elder?" "No. Didn't he go home with Bensen?" "I d'n know. I'll see."
W'en she seed de stump standin' dere, wid de sap runnin' out'n it, en de limbs layin' scattered roun', she nigh 'bout went out'n her mine. She run ter her cabin, en got her goopher mixtry, en den foller de track er de timber waggin ter de saw-mill. She knowed Sandy couldn' lib mo' d'n a minute er so ef she turn' him back, fer he wuz all chop' up so he'd a be'n bleedst ter die.
'F it was your foot, it 'd all be different, f'r you could hop around right spry with a false foot, but I d'n' know what good your foot 'll do you with the leg in between gone. I never hear o' no real foot on a false leg, 'n' 'f I was you, I certainly wouldn't want to lay wonderin' 'f I still had two legs f'r six weeks." "Six weeks!" cried Mrs.
I d'n' know's I ever was so glad of anythin' in my life 's I am that I drew No. 14 out o' Mrs. Craig's sugar-bowl. Fate 's a strange thing when you look it under 'n' over 'n' hind end to, Mrs. Lathrop, there was me drawin' No. 14 'n' Mrs. Craig herself gettin' Augustus, 'n' all on account of a sugar-bowl, 'n' that sugar-bowl hers 'n' not mine." Mrs. Lathrop applied her clover, but said nothing.
"Who is this pure young man with whom the beautiful Pepeeta is so safe? What is it you call him, David Crocker?" "'Tain't his real name." "What is his real name?" "D'n I ever t-t-tell you?" "No." "Real name's C-C-Corson David Corson." "What?" cried the judge, springing to his feet. "C-C-Corson I tell you," stuttered the quack, too drunk to notice the peculiar effect of his announcement.
I 've often thought both them things myself, 'n' me no doctor. Particularly about the twenty years. Father's lived seventy-five years I must say 't to my order o' thinkin' he's pretty well set a-goin', 'n' that the life he leads ain't drainin' his vitality near 's much 's it's drainin' mine." Miss Clegg stopped and shook her head impatiently. "I d'n' know when I 've felt as put out 's this.
Come with a big basket o' fresh vegetables 't he said he thought 'd maybe tempt my appetite. I d'n' know 's I ever enjoyed rappin' no one over the knuckles more 'n I did him.
One could almost see the fine, illusory spell of the far Latin land upon him, the spiritual bond, the pull of temperament that made the hill boy at one with Italy, blest of poetry. "I d'n know huccome I want to go so bad," he went on with a deep breath, "wouldn' turn araoun' th'ee times on my heels to go anywhur else, but I shoo do want to go to Italy." "Were your people Italians, Piney?" "Nope.
"So Pete hilt him up, en he kep' on wukkin' de roots, 'tel he got de goopher all tuk off'n Brer Primus 'cep'n' one foot. He had n' got dis foot mo' d'n half turnt back befo' his strenk gun out enti'ely, en he drap' de roots en fell back on de bed. "'I can't do no mo' fer you, Brer Primus, sezee, 'but I hopes you will fergib me fer w'at harm I done you.
So Tenie had ter git in de buggy en go 'long wid young Mars Dunkin ter his plantation, w'ich wuz mo' d'n twenty mile away; en dey wa'n't no chance er her seein' Sandy no mo' 'tel she come back home. De po' gal felt monst'us bad 'bout de way things wuz gwine on, en she knowed Sandy mus' be a wond'rin' why she didn' come en turn 'im back no mo'.
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