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I want to see Sam when he gits off o' that horse. Milly was settin' on the top seat considerably higher'n I was. And says she, 'I wouldn't care if I didn't see Sam for a week to come. Sam don't git mad often, says she, 'but when he does, folks'd better keep out o' his way.
"They're horribly greasy things," said Barbara, holding the doughnut fastidiously with the tip ends of her fingers. "Mebbe folks'd call 'em by anudder name ef no grease war used t' cook 'em by. Ah likes 'em, howsomeever, grease an' all!" returned Jeb, grinning with relief as Polly gave him two large ones. "Um! But they're good!" Eleanor smacked her lips at the first bite.
It's the bettin' and the swearin' that goes with the racin' that's the sin. If folks'd behave as well as the horses behaves, a race'd be jest as religious as a Sunday-school picnic.
If folks'd git in the habit of wuckin' mo' an' prayin' less, the worl'ud be better off, an' they'd really have somethin' to be thankful fur when Sunday comes, 'stid of livin' frum han' to mouth an' trustin' in some unknown God to cram feed in you' crops." Hardened by poverty, work, and misfortune, she was the soul of pessimism.
Fine gent ye'd be, with all of us dead here, and nobody to ever tell who Thirkle was, or about the Kut Sang, or the others. "Get away in the boats, ye would, and come back some day for the gold and then cut it for London, prayin' yer way out of the country, and folks'd wonder what come of the Devil's Admiral and his crew when no more ships was lost the way we made 'em go."
"She's got hair as black as a coal, kind o' pushed back, as if she'd been runnin' her hands through it; she has big shiny eyes, swelled up as she'd been cryin' a great while; and she's always got on a gray dress, silvery-like, with a tear in one sleeve. There ain't nothin' more, only a handkerchief tied round her wrist, as if it had been hurt." "Is she handsome?" "Mebbe white folks'd think so."
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