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Updated: June 3, 2025
"An' Peyton Winburn swars ter dat?" asked the woman, eagerly. "Yes, certainly." "Didn't I tell yer dat Nimbus was safe, Miss Mollie?" she cried, springing from her chair. "Don't yer see how dey cotch derselves? Ef der's ennybody on de green yairth dat knows all 'bout dis Ku Kluckin' it's Peyton Winburn, and dat ar Sheriff Gleason.
I kin jes' see dem ol' bindahs and harrows now, dat dey used den. It would shure look funny usin' 'em now." "I all'us got up foah clock in de mornin' to git in de cows an' I didn't hurry nun, 'caise dat tak in de time." "Ouah mammy neber 'lowed de old folks to tell us chilluns sceery stories o' hants an' sich lik' so der's nun foah me to 'member." "Travelin' wuz rather slo' lik.
'Cept de overseer, dere isn't a white man on de plantation, an' I hear he has to report ter-morrer or be treated as a deserter. An' der's nobody here to look arter Miss Mary an' de chillen, but myself, an' to see dat eberything goes right. I promised Marse Robert I would do it, an' I mus' be as good as my word." "Well, what should you keer?" said Tom Anderson.
And so about three o'clock Mike Breyette surveyed the orderly cabin, the pile of chopped wood, and the venison drying in the sun, and said briskly: "Well, M'sieu Thompson, Ah theenk we go show you hon Lone Moose village now. Dere's one w'ite man Ah don' know 'tall. But der's breed familee call Lachlan, eef she's not move 'way somew'ere. Dat familee she's talk Henglish, and ver' fond of preacher.
"Ain't we!" cried Clorinda, folding her arms. "Then jis you keep a civil tongue, dat's all. Times is changed, and der's a new misses a comin'; but you may all onderstand dat I rules de kitchen yet, and I'se gwine to." "Sartin, sartin! Wal now, about these here billet ducks," said Caleb, cunningly; "I must hurry up, you see, or I shan't get round afore night."
"Says she's got a headache go 'long; tell dat to blind folks! It's my 'pinion der's more heart-ache under dem looks dan anythin' else." "Dat's jis' what I tink," assented Dolf.
"Der's an old gazabo here," said the bouncer to me one day, "and he's got de angel goods on him O.K." He was a quiet, reticent old man of sixty, an Irishman who had served in the British Army in India with Havelock and Colin Campbell. He had bought a ranch in the West, but an accident to one of his eyes forced him to spend all his money to save the other one.
"Nimbus, dar's a heap ob cullud folks libbin' jes one way an' anudder from dis yer Red Wing cross-roads." "Co'se dey is, an' dat's de berry reason I'se sot my heart on yer habbin' a shop right h'yer. Yer shore ter git de wuk ob de whole country roun', an' der's mo' cullud folks right up an' down de creek an' de ribber h'yer dan ennywhar hereabouts dat I knows on."
I put the question and there was a chorus of fervent "Ja's" and "Gott sei Dank's." They were all glad to be out of it. No more fighting for them, Gott sei Dank! War was no good, at least not for the common soldier. "Ask him what he thinks of Hindenburg." A cheerful youngster from East Prussia answered: "Der's' nicht besser als wir He's no better than we are!" "Did you ever see him?"
Clo bridled and grew radiant; she cast a glance of triumph at Dinah, and only regretted that Victoria had not yet come downstairs to hear these benign words. "I 'spect Othello won't get here till late," said Dinah, beginning to fear that the good things would all have disappeared before his arrival. "Der's some meeting at de hotel, and he'll be kept dar de gemmen tinks nobody else can wait on em."
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