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Updated: May 12, 2025
But bedtime and old Isham came, and the whist players came not. It needed no one to tell Lawrence whose disinclination it was that had prevented their coming. "I reckon," said Uncle Isham, as he looked in at Letty's cabin on his way to his own, "dat dat ar Mister Crof' aint much use to gittin' hisse'f hurt. All de time I was helpin' him to go to bed he was a growlin' like de bery debbil."
"Love," with withering scorn, "love? Ain' he got somefin' bettah to do than lovin' when he's jes' fit and fought fo' Uncle Sam?" She beat the eggs for her batter as if she had Daisy's head under the whip. "He fit and fought fo' Uncle Sam," she repeated, "and now he comes home and camps hisse'f on Daisy's do'-step." Against the breeze of such high indignation, any argument would be blown away.
"Dey wuz a great 'miration mongs' de niggers, en' somebody run off ter de big house fer ter tell Marse Dugal'. Bimeby here come Marse Dugal' hisse'f, mad as a hawnit, acussin' en' gwine on like he gwine ter hurt somebody; but anybody w'at look close could' 'a' seed he wuz 'mos' tickled ter def fer ter git Skundus back ergin.
He could n' hol' no mo' pra'r-meetin's, fer Mars Walker would n' 'low 'im ter preach, en de darkies would n' 'a' listen' ter 'im ef he had preach'. He didn' eben hab his Bible fer ter comfort hisse'f wid, fer Mars Walker had tuk it erway fum 'im en burnt it up, en say ef he ketch any mo' niggers wid Bibles on de plantation he 'd do 'em wuss'n he done Dave.
He stayed hid a day er two mo' an' den he got so lonesome an' homesick fer Dasdy an' little Pete an' de yuther dahkies, somebody ter talk ter dat he jes' made up his min' ter go right up ter de house an' gib hisse'f up an' take his med'cine.
"No, honey, I ain't seed 'im wen he wuz dat way; dat wuz fo' my time; but den I know hit's de truf, do; his tail wuz er clar blue dout'n no eyes on it; an' he wuz er pow'ful proud bird, an', 'stid er him 'ten'in ter his bizness, he des prumeraded de streets an' de roads, an' he felt hisse'f too big fur ter ten' ter his wuck.
Soon ez he got out o' sight he pulled up, an' we walked along tell we come to de road whar leads off to'ds Mr. Barbour's. He wuz de big lawyer o' de country. Dar he tu'ned off. All dis time he hedn' sed a wud, 'cep' to kind o' mumble to hisse'f now and den. When we got to Mr. Barbour's, he got down an' went in. Dat wuz in de late winter; de folks wuz jes' beginnin' to plough fur corn.
"It is the right way," he said to Père Jerome, the day we saw him there. "Ursin Lemaìtre is dead. I have buried him. He left a will. I am his executor." "He is crazy," said his lawyer brother-in-law, impatiently. "On the contr-y," replied the little priest, "'e 'as come ad hisse'f." Evariste spoke. "Look at his face, Jean. Men with that kind of face are the last to go crazy."
Sampson turned the wheel for her as she got into the carriage, and gave her the linen lap-robe. "You sho is growed, Miss Eugeny," he observed, and then in reply to her question, "Marse Tom hev got pow'ful stiff-jinted recentelly. Hit seems like he'd ruther sot right still den ease hisse'f outer his cheer.
"'Is yer seed Dave, Dilsey? "'No, I ain' seed Dave, says Dilsey. "'Yer des oughter look at dat nigger; reckon yer would n' want 'im fer yo' junesey no mo'. Mars Walker cotch 'im stealin' bacon, en gone en fasten' a ham roun' his neck, so he can't git it off'n hisse'f. He sut'nly do look quare. En den de 'ooman bus' out laffin' fit ter kill herse'f.
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