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Updated: May 31, 2025
It was all I could do for my husband of three years. I don't know what else I did, what else I thought. I saw nothin', heard nothin', until somebody's hand fell upon my shoulder. "Why, Mrs. Pyncheon!" was the cry, an' lookin' up through my tears I saw neighbor King a-standin' by me. "I was goin' up the road," he said, "an' thought I'd stop an' say good-mornin'. Where's Micah?
"Good-mornin'," and with a cheerful nod, he made off. The fact is that this information opened up a new field of enterprise and hope. At once there leaped into his mind an improved revival of his original plan. If he could have made a fortune with his great inventions in 1876, what might he not accomplish by the same means in 1598!
Turning, they saw their friend Tim Mills, coming along at the same slouching gait in which he always walked. His old single-barrel gun was thrown across his arm, and he looked a little rustier than on the day he had shared their lunch. The boys held a little whispered conversation, and decided on a treaty of friendship. "Good-mornin'," he said, on coming up to them. "How's your ma?"
Half an hour passed and Jason was getting restless again, when he saw an old negro shuffling down the stone walk with a bucket in one hand, a mop in the other, and trailing one leg like a bird with a broken wing. "Good-mornin', son." "Do you know whar John Burnham is?" "Whut's dat whut's dat?" "I'm a-lookin' fer John Burnham." "Look hyeh, chile, is you referrin' to Perfesser Burnham?"
I don't think she saw me, even, for she turned immediately and faced some one standing in the doorway, whom I now perceived to be Ailse, looking dreadfully frightened. "Good-mornin', Mis' Wheatley," said the Amazon, with withering sarcasm; "good-mornin', madam. I think you'll know it the nex' time I darkens your doors, I think you will.
"Good-mornin'!" he nodded, jigging away with his feet. "You'll lev' us come through, I suppose?" "Welcome," grunted Roger. "And, darn'ee, take care o' my cabbages!" added Malachi. "You ruined half a score of 'em last year with your May-games." "Cab " Here the inexorable tune forced His Worship to face about and twirl his partner. "Cabbages?" he resumed.
He felt that news of the raid had won abroad; that, although shy of speaking, they were studying his face for a sign. He kept it carefully cheerful; but came near to losing his temper when he reached Trengrove's shop to find Mr Garraway already there and in earnest conversation with the butcher. 'Ah! good-mornin' again! I was just talkin' about you and your pigeons, said Mr Garraway, frankly.
She turned her head and nodded. But Del Bishop was not shamefaced, nor even worried. "Trust a Welse to land on their feet on a soft spot," he had consoled himself as he dropped off to sleep the night before. But he was angry "madder 'n hops," in his own vernacular. "Good-mornin'," he saluted. "And it's plain by your face you had a comfortable night of it, and no thanks to me."
Slamming them down on the counter, he said sulkily, "There they be. Any more of my prop'ty you'd like to have?" Captain Eri didn't answer. Coolly tearing off several sheets of wrapping paper from the roll at the back of the counter, he made a bundle of the hat and coat, and tucked it under his arm. Then he put on his own hat and started for the door. "Good-mornin'," he said.
These letters the captain held in his hand when he pushed open the door of the sitting-room and stood before the inmates in his rough pea-jacket, his ruddy face crimson with the cold, his half-moon whiskers all the whiter by contrast. "Good-mornin' to the hull o' ye!" he shouted. "Cold as blue blazes outside, I tell ye, but ye look snug enough in here.
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