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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Den Miss Dorry look kinder queer, and rub de ghos'-ring on de bridal-finger. "'What dat? she 'low. "'Dasser ghos'-ring, honey. "Den she rub an' rub, but, bless yo' heart, Mars' George! she dess natch'ly gwine wear dat pink ghos'-ring twill yo' slip de bride-ring on.... Mars' George! Honey! What de matter, chile?... Is you a-weepin', Mars' George?" "Oh, Cato, Cato!"
"Is he drowned?" asked Mr. Tarbox, while still some distance off. "Been struck by lightnin' sim like," replied the negro who had found the body. "Watch out, Mistoo Tah-bawx!" he added, as the skiff drew near; "dat boat dess lousy wid snake'!" Tarbox stood up in the skiff and looked sadly upon the dead face. "It's our man," he said to St. Pierre. "Dass what I say!" exclaimed the negro.
"'Deed it were!" said Mrs. Silver. "An' dess whut he claim hisse'f he mean it fer! But you tell me, please, how you hear whut you' grampaw say? He mighty noisy, but you nev' could a-hear him plumb to whur you live." "I wasn't home," said Florence. "I was over here." "Then you mus' 'a' made you'se'f mighty skimpish, 'cause I ain't seen you!" "Nobody saw me.
For this was the sequel to his "so's we can see if Kitty Silver's got anything." But Mrs. Silver discouraged him. "No, I ain't," she replied. "I ain't, an' I ain't goin' to." "I thought you pretty near always made cookies on Tuesday," he said. "Well, I ain't this Tuesday," said Kitty Silver. "I ain't, and I ain't goin' to. You might dess well g'on home ri' now. I ain't, an' I ain't goin' to."
"I dess I'll take a nappy now," he murmured, and in five minutes was sleeping as soundly as a dormouse. Two striped squirrels, which may or may not have been the same which he had seen in the early morning, came out on a bough not a yard from his head, chattered, winked, put their paws to their noses and made disrespectful remarks to each other about the motionless figure.
Look at dem fo' li'l' spot' on de man' foot! Now, Mistoo Tah-bawx! You been talk' 'bout dem ah bahsta'd hawn-snake not pizen! Well, mos' sholy dey bite ain't pizen; but if dat hawn on de een of his tail dess on'y tetch you, you' gone! Look at dat man! Kill' him so quick dey wa'n't time for de place to swell whah he was hit!" But Tarbox quietly pointed out to St.
Miss Dorry ain' no Varick; Miss Dorry all Ormond, suh, dess lak you an' me! Yaas, suh, h'its dat-a-way; h'it sho' is, Mars' Ormond." I drew a deep, quivering breath. Home seemed so far, and the old slave would never live to see it. I felt as though this steel-cold North held me, too, like a trap never to unclose. "Cato," I said, abruptly, "let us go home."
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