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Updated: May 13, 2025
It was too solemn for Uncle Davy. He began to whimper again: "I didn't think I would ever live to see the day when I'd hear my own will read after I was dead, an' Hillard a-readin' it around my own corpse. It's Tilly's handwrite," he explained, as he saw the Bishop scrutinizing the testament closely. "I can't write, as you kno', but I've made my mark at the end, an' I want you to witness it."
I won't betray ter no man what's in hit but mebby I mout compare them words with ther handwrite of some fellers I knows an' git at ther gist of the matter, thet fashion." It seemed a slender chance yet a possibility. A man who was everywhere acquainted might make use of it, whereas the stranger himself could hardly hope to do so.
"I'm offerin' ye a free choice," warned Thornton, "but onless ye're ready ter fight hyar an' now ye've p'int-blank got ter walk in thar an' set down in handwrite, with yore name signed at ther bottom, a full confession thet ye hired me shot thet night." "Like hell I will!"
"Hit war right then I looked out an' seed ye," she said, simply, "an' 'peared like ye'd plum bodily walked outen them pages of handwrite. Thet's why I asked whether yore folks didn't dwell hyar onc't. Mebby we mout be kin." Cal Maggard shook his head. "My folks moved away to Virginny so fur back," he informed her, "thet hit's apt ter be right distant kinship."
It was but the work of a moment for the excited lad to leap upon the block, throw the bridle over the post, and run in, letter in hand, vociferating, "Don't ye worry any more about Betsey; she's all safe and sound. See, it's in her own handwrite." "Yis, daddy, and stuck together with that same red wax you gin her," says little Sam.
Maybe 'twas mean, but sometimes I watched her readin' de letter, her han's flutterin' as she opened it like a little bird's wings when it's cotched. I think she was allus 'spectin' sumptin' what never comed. The letters was short, but it took her a mighty time to read 'em, 'case you see she wasn't good at readin' writin', an' I 'specs de Colonel's handwrite wasn't very plain.
Don't I copy 'em out plain for her, so as folks won't know her handwrite? Go 'way! you're loony!" Then, possibly doubting if this latter expression were strictly diplomatic with the business in hand, he added, in half-reproach, half-apology, "Don't ye see I don't want ye to be fooled into losin' yer chance o' buying up that Summit wood? It's the cold truth I'm tellin' ye." Mr.
"I write for a living." He thought a while. "Well, it must be purty fine to have a good handwrite." This nearly dissolved the Blight and the little sister, but they held on heroically. "Is there much fighting around here?" I asked presently. "Not much 'cept when one young feller up the river gets to tearin' up things. I heerd as how he was over to the Gap last week raisin' hell.
I’ll run and give it to him now—but no, I won’t," said he, suddenly slackening his pace, "I’ve heard him say he could always trust me, and if I own up this time, he’ll lose his—what’s the word? Conference?—Yes, conference in me. I don’t believe this letter’s of any account, for its a great big letter, just like a man’s handwrite. Any way, I’ll wait till I get home and consult Leffie."
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