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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Atter he got thu, den he santer 'long, he did, fur ter hunt up de Woodpecker; an' by'mby he hyeard him peckin' at er log; an' he went up ter him kin' er kyeerless, an' he sez, 'Good-mornin', sezee; 'yer pow'ful busy ter day.
After this rush of work, Peter's life became as routine as of yore. The winter passed without an event worth noting, if we except a steadily growing acquaintance with the dwellers of the district. But in July a new phase was injected into it by a call from Dennis Moriarty. "Good-mornin' to yez, sir, an' a fine day it is," said the latter, with his usually breezy way. "Yes," said Peter.
Between the path at this point and the cliff's edge lay a small patch cleared for potatoes, and here an oldish man was leaning on his shovel and looking up at Zeb. "Good-mornin', my son!" "Mornin', hollibubber!" The old man had once worked inland at St. Teath slate-quarries, and made his living as a "hollibubber," or one who carts away the refuse slates.
She came towards them across the lagoon under a great press of sail, lying dangerously down, so that at times, in the heavier puffs, they thought she would turn turtle; covered the distance in fine style, luffed up smartly alongside, and emitted a haggard looking white man in pyjamas. "Good-mornin', Cap'n," said he, when he had made good his entrance.
He had been sitting alone, when a stranger entering the car seated himself in the vacant seat. Looking up, Jasper noticed that he was a tall man, shabbily dressed, with thin, sallow face and a swelling in the left cheek, probably produced by a quid of tobacco. "Good-mornin', colonel," said the stranger, sociably. "Good-morning, sir," said Jasper, smiling. "I haven't the honor of being a colonel."
Anyway I woke up with the distinct impression that somebody was hailing the boat, and thrusting my head up through the hatch I discovered my faithful retainer standing on the bank. He greeted me with a slightly apologetic air when I put off to fetch him. "Good-mornin', sir. I hope I done right stoppin' ashore, sir. The young lady told me I wouldn't be wanted not till this mornin'."
For the last time, next morning he rode down to Flitter Bill's store. On the way he met Parson Kilburn and for the last time Mayhall Wells straightened his shoulders and for one moment more resumed his part: perhaps the parson had not heard of his fall. "Good-mornin', parsing," he said, pleasantly. "Ah where have you been?"
"Good-mornin', ma'am," he said. "Would you be so kind as to tell me the name of this town?" "This be Newington," she replied, in a high, cracked voice. "Newington," he replied, with a nod and a smile intended to express complete enlightenment. "Ah, yes Newington. Quite a town!" "Is that all you'd be askin', young man?" said the old woman, a little suspiciously, eying his strange garb.
These he enclosed with the deeds in a large blue envelope, and in a clerkly hand addressed them, with a note, to James Crawshaw. After this he knelt down, and, as he prayed, Captain came and laid his head upon the clasped hands of his master. 'Good-mornin', Abram. Hasto ought fresh daan i' th' village? 'Plenty, Enoch; hasto yerd naught? 'Nowe; I hevn't bin daan fro' th' moors sin' Sundo.
"Ann Lizy sent over to see if you'd made up your mind," said Adoniram. Amanda started. "Good-mornin', Mr. Babcock. Yes, you can tell her I have. I'm a-goin'." There was a reckless defiance of faith in Amanda's voice. She had a wild air as she stood there with the broom in a faint swirl of dust. "Well, Ann Lizy'll be glad you've made up your mind to.
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