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Updated: May 15, 2025
He died about three years ago. Dis gent'man is the gran'son one o' my young masters. I was the fust pusson ever put him on a hoss." "Can he ride?" "Kin he ride! You wait an' see him," laughed the old man. "He ought to be able to ride! Ken a bud fly? Heah he now." He turned as the young owner, brown and tanned, and hardly more than a boy, came up through the crowd.
"That's what he's called at the Cross-roads." There he stopped and stared at Matt a moment. "My young master's name's De Willoughby, sah," Matt said; "'n' de names soun's mighty simulious when dey's spoke quick. My young Marse, Rupert De Willoughby, he de gran'son er Jedge De Willoughby, an' de son an' heir er Cun'l De Courcy De Willoughby what died er yaller fever at Nashville."
He not wukkin, dis week, and dat why fo' I jaw him jus' now when you come in an' stop him. He de cahpentah, my gran'son, Cha's Coteswuth." XII: From the Bedside
Boys war wild an' mischeevious, an' folks outside don't keer nuthin' 'bout ye ef they war ter 'lect ye ter office 'twould be ter keep some other feller from hevin' it, 'kase they 'spise him more'n ye. An' hyar she's runned off an' married old Tom Kittredge's gran'son, Josiah Kittredge's son when our folks 'ain't spoke ter none o' 'em fur fifty year Josiah Kittredge's son ha! ha! ha!"
The man had Ralph in his arms trying to quiet him. "But," persisted the boy, "he'll come for me, he'll, make me go. If they find out I'm his gran'son there at the court, they'll tell him to take me, I know they will!" "But ye're no' his gran'son, Ralph, ye've naught to do wi' 'im. Ye're Robert Burnham's son." "Oh, no, Uncle Billy, I ain't, I " He stopped suddenly.
The old man, beginning to settle in his chair, sat bolt upright. "Is some female woman tryin' to get her hooks in my gran'son already? Name her to me, sir!" "Name of Temple," said Little. "Terry Temple as they call her, an' a sure good-lookin' party, if you ask me! Classy from eyes to ankles an' when it comes to "
"Then tell me, sir," and the old man's tone was angry and challenging to a remarkable degree, "why in the name of the devil my gran'son, Stephen, ain't showed up yet!" Guy Little might have remarked that it was rather early to expect any one to show up. It was not yet six o'clock of a morning which promised to be one of the very finest mornings ever known.
Especially she. You jus' get that in your head, young lady. An' before we start let me tell you one more thing: You keep your two han's off'n my gran'son!" "What!" gasped Terry. "I said it," he fairly snorted. "Come on there, Guy Little, with that car. Ready there, Bridges, you ol' fool? Pile in."
Less than a week later Sprague was back saying that he had seen Hell-Fire Packard and that that old mountain-lion had roared at him terribly, had threatened him with utter ruin if ever again he helped out Steve Packard and had bade him carry a message. "Tell that smart young fool of a gran'son of mine," was the word Sprague gave Steve, "that right now I'm gettin' ready to polish him off final.
If apples is riz an' I gits two dollars an' a quarter a bar'l, ob course I keeps de extry quarter, which don' pay anyhow fur de trouble ob pickin' 'em. But de six dollars I gibs, cash down, ter Mahs'r Morris. Don' you call dat puffectly fa'r an' squar, Brudder 'Bijah?" 'Bijah shook his head. "Dis is a mighty dubersome question, Brudder Gran'son, a mighty dubersome question."
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