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Updated: June 29, 2025
"I don't know how much Miss Lettie has been talking about me," laughed Hiram. "Full and plenty, I expect." "And small blame to her," declared Mr. Bronson. "I won't waste time telling you how grateful I am. I had just time to turn that boy of Dickerson's off before I was called away. Now, my lad, I want you to come and work for me."
"Goodness knows! I'm not anxious to be counted among Pete Dickerson's particular friends." Thanksgiving came on apace, and every one of the old boarders of Mother Atterson had written that he would come to the farm to spend the holiday. Even Mr.
Gwine 'long one day, met Johnny Huby, ax him grine nine yards er steel fer me, tole me w'ich he couldn't; den I hist 'im over Hickerson Dickerson's barn-doors; knock 'im ninety-nine miles under water, w'en he rise, he rise in Pike straddle un a hanspike, en I lef' 'im dar smokin' er de hornpipe, Juba reda seda breda.
The original Day in Poketown had built a shingled, gable-ended cottage upon the side-hill which had now, for numberless years, been called "the old Day house" nothing more. "Jason! You Jase! I'd give a cent if you'd mend this pump," complained Mrs. Almira Day. "Go git me a pail of water from Mis' Dickerson's and ask how's her rheumatism this mawnin'. Come on, now!
Dickerson coming back from California?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "When it is warm here. She can not stand cold weather. But she did not go out to California altogether on account of the climate." "Didn't she?" "No. You have heard my husband speak of a long-lost brother also a brother of Mrs. Dickerson's, who was a Whipple before her marriage." "Yes, I heard something about that."
Ludlow knew, he would surely despise her, and she wished she were dead indeed: not so much because she had boxed Dickerson's ears as because she had done what obliged her to do it.
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