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Updated: May 16, 2025
"I 'm go'n' to kerry y' home," said Abel; "'T' th' ol Doctor, he's got a gre't cur'osity t' see ye. Jes' step along naow, off that way, will ye? 'n' I Ill hol' on t' th' bridle, f' fear y' sh'd run away." He took hold of the leather thong, but found that it was fastened at the other end to the saddle. This was too much for Abel. "Wal, naow, yeou be a pooty chap to hev raound!
"In a gre't big house on Esplanade Street. She seemed mighty put out about something. Then a man run me away with a club." A moment later Blake was on the street and had hailed a carriage. The driver, reading urgency in the set face of his fare, whipped the horses into a gallop and the vehicle tore across town, leaping and rocking violently.
"The' was some things on the hoss, Squire, that the man he ketched said he didn' care no gre't abaout; but perhaps you'd like to have 'em fetched to the mansion-haouse. Ef y' didn' care abaout 'em, though, I shouldn' min' keepin' on 'em; they might come handy some time or 'nother: they say, holt on t' anything for ten year 'n' there'll be some kin' o' use for't."
Anybody with two eyes in his head can see she's jest a po' little lost thing. You gre't gawk, you!" "What is I done, I'd like to know?" inquired Mr. Collins, helplessly. Anne had not realized that she was hungry until Mrs. Collins set before her a plateful of hot crisp cakes.
"Lan' name, who dat!" he exclaimed aloud. "Who dat in dem pan-jingeries? He jine' de circus?" His hands fell upon his knees, and he got to his feet pneumatically, shaking his head with foreboding. "Honey, honey, hit' baid luck, baid luck sing 'fo' breakfus. Trouble 'fo' de day be done. Trouble, honey, gre't trouble. Baid luck, baid luck!"
"He tuk me wid 'im dat evenin', an' he tell me he hed done git a letter from Miss Anne, an' Marse Chan he eyes look like gre't big stars, an' he face wuz jes' like 'twuz dat mawnin' when de sun riz up over de low groun's, an' I see 'im stan'in' dyah wid de pistil in he han', lookin' at it, an' not knowin' but what it mout be de lars' time, an' he done mek up he mine not to shoot ole Cun'l Chahmb'lin fur Miss Anne's sake, what writ 'im de letter.
"That tha' Mist' Steerin' aint ben come no mo' fuh gre't while, air he?" "No." "Samson he say he gwine ride down by Redbud this evenin'." "Well, Chloe, I'm sorry that I can't send an invitation to your favourite, but I'm afraid Father isn't well enough oh, there's Piney, Chloe!" The boy had come up the bridle-path slowly, his mission weighting him and making him languid.
I 'member Mis Nancy an' white folks 'ud set out thar of an evenin' an' mek us li'l cullud chullun dance an' sing an' cut capers fer to 'muse 'em. Den dey had a trough, built 'bout lak a pig trough, an' dey would mek de cook bake a gre't big slab er co'n bread an' put hit in de trough an' po' milk or lasses over hit, an' tu'n us li'l cullud chullun loose on hit.
Miss Anne she hed done mos' growed up, too wuz puttin' her hyar up like ole 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.
It was to the town where she had to change cars and take the great through train; a point of geography which she had learned from evening talks between the men at the farm. "What'll ye carry me there for?" "We don't run no passenger cars," said one of the young fellows, laughing. "What makes you in such a hurry?" "I'm startin' for Pheladelphy, an' it's a gre't ways to go."
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