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"Not all wasted work, surely?" "They wouldn't allow it for the world. He's that gay afore me, an' Phoebe keeps a stiff upper lip, tu; but I go up unexpected now an' again an' pop in unawares an' sees the truth. You with your letter or message aforehand, doan't find out nothing, an' won't." "He'm out o' luck, I allow. What's the exact reason?" I knaw you set gert store 'pon the Word.
Now, there be Garge," he continued, lowering his tone. "'Tis true that he be but a lad; but he'm a sailor to the tips of his fingers; he'm so good a seaman and navigator as I be; he've a-got coolness and courage when they be most needed; he knoweth how to handle a crew; he've got the gift of tongues; and he'm a gentleman, which is a danged sight more than I be.
"Let him, the chap, knaw fust what's come along o' his carneying, an' maybe he'll marry 'e, as you sez, right away. Bide wi' me till you tells en. Let en do what's right an' seemly. That's the shortest road." "Iss fay; he'm a true man. But I ban't gwaine to wait for en in this 'ouse.
Sky-color an' no less. What I'm wonderin' is as to however she comed here 'tall." "Piskey-led, I'll warrant 'e," said the ancient. "Nay, man-led, which is worse. You mind that printed envelope us found in the kitchen. 'Twas some dark doin' of that anointed vellun as brot her in trouble. Ay, an' if I could do en a graave hurt I would, Methodist or no Methodist." "He'm away," answered Bartlett.
"Ess, an' he'm mouldin' you to his awn vain pride an' wrong ways o' thinking. If you could lead un right, 't would be a better wife's paart." "He'm wiser'n me, an' stronger. Ban't my place to think against him. Us'll go our ways, childern tu, an' turn our backs 'pon this desert. I hate the plaace now, same as Will." Chris here interrupted Phoebe and called her from the other room.
"Well, faither, he'm contrary to sich things, as I tawld 'e, Mister Jan. Faither said Joe'd better by a deal keep his money in his purse; but he let me have the picksher, an' 'tis nailed up in a lil frame, what Joe made, at home in the parlor." She stopped a moment and sighed, then spoke again. "Faither's a wonnerful God-fearin' man, sure 'nough." "Is he a God-loving man too, Joan?" "I dunnaw.
"You'll keep the gal, I reckon?" she said quietly; "if you can hold hand off Will till he'm on his legs again, I'd thank you." "I shall do what I please, when I please; an' my poor fule of a daughter stops with me as long as I've got power to make her." "Hope you'll live to see things might have been worse." "That's impossible. No worse evil could have fallen upon me.
But I'll tell 'e so soon's I've tawld Uncle Thomas." "He'm in the croft somewheers. Better bide till dinner. Uncle'll be back by then." "I caan't, Mary not till I've spoke wi' en. I'll gaw long down Green Lane, then I shall meet en for sure. An' if a box o' mine comes by the omblibus, 'tis right." "A box! Whatever is there in it, Joan?" "All's I've gotten in the world leastways nearly.
Scip was not at the cabin, and the old negro woman told us he had been away for several hours. 'Reckon he'll be 'way all day, sar, said Jim, as we turned our horses to go. 'He ought to be resting against the ride of to-morrow. Where has he gone? 'Dunno, sar, but reckon he'm gwine to fine Sam. 'Sam? Oh, he's the runaway the Colonel has advertised. 'Yas, sar, he'm 'way now more'n a monfh.
'Get down, you d d nigger, said the Colonel, laughing, and mounting the carriage-box beside him. 'You can't read. Old Garrison isn't there he's the d d Northern Abolitionist. 'I knows dat, Cunnel, but see dar, holding the paper out to his master, 'don't dat say he'm dar? It'm him dat make all de trubble. P'raps dis nig' can't read, but ef dat ain't readin' I'd like to know it!
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