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Updated: May 16, 2025
Miss Anne she hed done mos' growed up too wuz puttin' her hyar up like old missis use' to put hers up, an' 'twuz jes' ez bright ez de sorrel's mane when de sun cotch on it, an' her eyes wuz gre't big dark eyes, like her pa's, on'y bigger an' not so fierce, an' 'twarn' none o' de young ladies ez purty ez she wuz.
I was tellin' him how to go to work on that bung that's formed between the gre't gray rock an' the shore, the awfullest place to bung that there is between this an' Biddeford, and says he: 'Look here, I've be'n boss on this river for twelve year, an' I'll be doggoned if I'm goin' to be taught my business by any man! 'This ain't no river, says I, 'as you'd know, says I, 'if you'd ever lived on the Kennebec. 'Pity you hed n't stayed on it, says he.
Broussard, he jes' keep them chickens to' 'commodate the chaplain. The chaplain, he's a gre't cockfighter, an' he say, 'Mr. Broussard, the Kun'l is mighty strict, an' kinder queer in his head, an' he ain't no dead game sport like me an' you, so if you will oblige me, Mr. Broussard, jes' keep my fightin' chickens in your cellar, an' if the Kun'l say anything to you, tell him them chickens is yourn.
When Tom released Reno from his watch and ward, the dog trotted after Ruth and put his nose into her hand. "Ye been up ter the mill, hev ye?" queried Parloe, eyeing Tom Cameron aslant. "ye oughter be gre't friends with Jabe Potter. Or has he squared hisself with ye?" "Say, Mister Parloe," said Tom, sharply, "you've been hinting something about the miller every time you've seen me lately
He shook his dripping hat, and hung up the stiff yellow rain-coat that he called a 'slicker. "I come by the station, wife," he announced. "And what you think? Thar's a gre't big sign up, 'Lost child." "Sho! Whose child's lost?" inquired Mrs. Collins. "It's Anne," was the reply. "The printed paper give her name and age and all.
"You mustn't worry," I answered, with all the bravery and assurance that I could muster. "Your niece will be thankful to have you with her. Is she one of Mrs. Winn's daughters?" "Oh, no, they ain't able; it's Sister Wayland's darter Isabella, that married the overseer of the gre't carriage-shop.
Skeer Miss Dimple outen her senses, will yuh? Yuh gre't, ugly black crittur!" and rock after rock came with such force and precision that the unfortunate snake, in a few minutes, was "daid as a do' nail," as Bubbles expressed it. Dimple clung to her mother, trembling with fright, even after the snake was killed. "Is it dead, really dead? Oh, Bubbles!" she quavered.
I nuber seed 'im but I hyeard he wuz dar, do, an' I knows he wuz dar, caze I sho'ly hyeard 'em clappin' uv dey han's; an', 'cordin' ter de way I 'members bout'n it, dis is his birfday, wat de folks keeps plum till yet caze dey ain't no men nowerdays like Marse Fofer July. He wuz er gre't man, an' he had sense, too; an' den, 'sides dat, he wuz some er de fus' famblys in dem days.
Andy took it in slowly. "How much?" he asked at last. "Six-seven thousand," said Uncle William. "What!" Andy's feet scuffed a little. "'T ain't reasonable," he said feebly. "No, 't ain't reasonable." Uncle William spoke gently. "I was a good deal s'prised myself, Andy, when I found how high they come picters. Ye can't own a gre't many of 'em not at one time."
Lucy, you an' Lucindy leave 'lone them strips; you're jes' hend'rin' yer brothah. Git yer nine patch pieces. Gre't, big gals lak you ortn't idle." "Some one's comin'!" exclaimed Mr. Rogers, the first to notice the barking of the dogs outside. "See who 'tis, Henry." "Heah, Lucy, gether up them twigs," bustled Mrs. Rogers, as she swept the hearth. "Rache, tek thet harnish out.
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