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Updated: May 24, 2025
"Mose is too old, and too badly crippled with rheumatism, to be of any use to his new friends." "I suppose you and Morris will be going next," said Marcy, nodding at Julius, "and that, if I want my filly brought to the door, I can bring her myself." "Oh, hursh, honey," replied the boy. "I aint a-keerin what dat old niggah Morris gwine do, but Julius aint gwine run away."
"Oh, hursh, honey," was the reply. "If Julius hear sumfin, don't you reckon he got sense 'nough to tell? You best be gettin' out'n dar 'fore dey come. Good-by, missus." "Go ahead with those things, and I will be at the boat by the time you are," said Marcy. Julius disappeared, but it was not so easy for his master to follow him as it was to talk about it.
"You're a traitor, Ben Hawkins, and I'll see that the Home Guards know it. You're a Confederate soldier, too, and I'll take pains to tell the Yankees of that." "Hursh yer noise, dar!" said Julius, looking over his shoulder and scowling fiercely at the overseer. "If I drap my wing at you, you drap overboard, suah's you "That will do," said Marcy, stepping into the stern-sheets. "Shove us off, Mr.
Well, no girl can say I ever went and set down by her smellin' like a bunghole on a hot day. I don't travel that road. I'll go over there smellin' like a fruit-store, and I'll put that box in her hand and tell her to chaw till she goes to sleep, an then I'll pull her head over on my shoulder and pat them bangs. Hursh, oh, hursh!"
"Look here, you imp of darkness," he exclaimed. "Hursh, honey, hursh!" said Julius, in an excited whisper. "Go fru de hall, and look out de oder side." "What's out there?" asked Marcy, in the same low whisper. "Nuffin. But you go and look." Marcy put down the window and went, knowing that it would be a waste of time to question such a fellow as Julius.
He made a graceful bow as he spoke, a bow that would have done credit to the man from New Orleans. It was so well done, indeed, that Lily unconsciously bowed in return, as she said, with a look that savored a little of roguishness: "Oh, hursh, Mr. Peters! You des a-guyin' me dat what you doin'." "Guyin' nothin'," said Peters, grinning broadly as he noted the expression of Pierre's face.
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