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Updated: May 6, 2025
"And you wouldn't get away because I couldn't?" "That's what I thought, Jem." "Well, of all the things I ever heared! Now I wonder whether I should have done like that if you and me had been twisted round; I mean, if you had gone down first and been caught." "Of course you would, Jem." "Well, that's what I don't know, Mas' Don.
I was into my breeches before they had trampled half the length of the platform well on my way down the dark stair when they knocked on the door standing scared in the light of their lantern, the door open, before they found time to hail. I was addressed by a gray old man in ragged oilskins. "We heared tell," said he, mildly, wiping his dripping beard, "that you got a doctor here."
"But I isn't rid o' she, Davy," he groaned, "an' that's what's troublin' the twins an' me. I isn't rid o' she, for I've heared tell she've some l'arnin' an' can write a letter." "Write!" cried I. "She won't write." "Ah, Davy," sighed the skipper, his head falling over his breast, "you've no knowledge o' women. They never gives in, lad, that they're beat. They never knows they're beat.
But a man is a man, and the last thing to complain of is the exercise of his functions. And when I come round I went off to his lordship, as if I had heared his bell ring. All of us knew better than to speak till him beginning, for he were not what they now call 'halfable, but very much to the contrary.
He stopped a minute ter listen, en he heared sump'n grunt ag'in. Den he went ober ter de fence whar he heard de fuss, en dere, layin' in de fence co'nder, on a pile er pine straw, he seed a fine, fat shote. "Primus look' ha'd at de shote, en den sta'ted home.
"You hain't never heared o' the Dunkards, I reckon," the old woman said to Mrs. March. "Some folks calls 'em the Beardy Men, because they don't never shave; and they wash feet like they do in the Testament. My uncle was one. He raised me." "I guess pretty much everybody's a Beardy Man nowadays, if he ain't a Dunkard!"
It is well occasionally to call to mind these words by Robert Burns, singing free and with an untrammelled mind and soul from his heather-covered hills: Here's freedom to him that wad read, Here's freedom to him that wad write; There's nane ever feared that the truth should be heared But them that the truth wad indict.
"Next," proceeded the trained nurse, "we want to be friendly and helpful to the grown-up people who need it, especially to the sick and suffering." "I heared of the nursing you done in these parts in the typhoid last summer," said Aunt Dalmanutha, "and certainly it sounded good. But, women, one more question I crave to put to you. Do you mix in religion and preachifying as you go along?"
I jumps up quick an' runs tew sum bushes that growed a-treen me an' th' sound, an' looks through 'em, a little cautious-like on account of my broken arm, an' seed three men a-strugglin' on th' ground not more'n forty rods from whar I was; an' th' next I knowed I heared a lot of yellin', an' seen tew men jump out of th' bushes sum twenty rods below me, an' start runnin' for them fightin' men.
And he spoke of my havin' egged 'em on to steal watermelons frum Mister Bell's watermelon patch out here three miles frum town, on the Marshallville gravel road. You-all heared whut he jest now said about that. "I don't mean no offense and I beg his pardon fur contradictin' him right out before everybody here in the big courthouse; but, mister, you're wrong.
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