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I have killed a dozen large squirrels, too, with your bow and arrows, which I find you left in your canoe. But " "Yes, he good bow, dat might kill hummin'-bird wid dat bow. Fish good here, eh?" "They are eatable, when a body can get no better. But NOW, I should think, Pigeonswing, you might give us some of the news." "Mustn't be squaw, Bourdon bad for warrior be squaw.
"I knows who done it!" broke in Eradicate, who was a sort of privileged character about the Swift home. "Who?" asked Mr. Jackson. "It were dat Andy Foger. Leastways, he send dat man heah t' make mincemeat oh de Hummin'-Bird. I's positib 'bout dat, so I am!" And Eradicate grinned triumphantly. "Well, perhaps Andy did have a hand in it," admitted Mr.
I'll take straight whiskey, an' after that I ain't partic'ler whether I get patty-de-foy-graw or hummin'-bird tongues." His good-humor was infectious, and they were thankful, too, for the shelter, desolate though the place was. All the wood had been stripped away except the floors, and the brick walls were bare.
"I feel a little mite onfriendly, putting up signs like that 'fore my neighbours," he admitted, "but the fact is, it ain't the neighbours so much as it's boys that need raising, an' them town creatures who call themselves sportsmen, an' kill a hummin'-bird to see if they can hit it.
"'Tis the light heart she has, and slippin' in and out of things like a hummin'-bird, no easier to ketch and no longer to stay," said Finden, the rich Irish landbroker, suggestively to Father Bourassa, the huge French-Canadian priest who had worked with her through all the dark weeks of the smallpox epidemic, and who knew what lay beneath the outer gayety.
Robert to settle down to business as it would be teachin' a hummin'-bird to sit for his photograph. So I gives up, and asks for details of the big event. "When does it come off?" says I. "Oh, right away," says he. "I don't know just when; but soon very soon." "Home or church?" says I. "Oh, either," says he. "It doesn't matter in the least."
"I'd be glad to go to work to-morrow, too," said Ella. "I'd be glad of anything to make the time pass." "Why, honey, wot you want de time to pass quick fer? You oughter be like de hummin'-bird, gederin sweets all de day." "I feel more like a croaking raven." "You'se quar, Missy Ella. You'se up an' you'se down, an' you doan know why.
She hed on a green silk dress, an' a lace cape that was like a skeeter nettin' over her neck an' showed her bare skin through, an' a hat like an apple orchard in full bloom, hummin'-bird an' all. Dixie kerried himself as proud as Lucifer. He didn't look at the minister 'n' he didn't look at the congregation; his great eyes was glued on Fiddy, as if he couldn't hardly keep from eatin' of her up.
'Tain't bin proned inter no Brer B'ar fer ter kotch Brer Rabbit. Hit sorter like settin' a mule fer ter trap a hummin'-bird. But Brer B'ar, he tuck'n got hisse'f inter some mo' trubble, w'ich it look like it mighty easy.
Fus' she 'lowed it wuz a hummin'-bird; den she thought it sounded lack her little Mose croonin' on her breas' way back yander on de ole plantation. En she des 'magine' it wuz her little Mose, en it made her feel bettah, en she went on 'bout her wuk pearter 'n she'd done sence she 'd be'n down dere.
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