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Updated: May 7, 2025
It felt almost like sacrilege to peer thus into the privacies of such people; but I hope they did not feel as if it had been done offensively. We called next at the cottage of a hand-loom weaver a poor trade now in the best of times a very poor trade since the days when tattered old "Jem Ceawp" sung his pathetic song of "Jone o' Greenfeelt"
"Mais, Posson Jone'!" in his old falsetto "de order you cannot read it, it is in French compel you to go hout, sir!" "Is that so?" cried the parson, bounding up with radiant face "is that so, Jools?" The young man nodded, smiling; but, though he smiled, the fountain of his tenderness was opened.
"Now," said he, still tarrying, "this is jest the way; had I of gone to church " "Posson Jone'," said Jules. "What?" "I tell you. We goin' to church!" "Will you?" asked Jones, joyously. "Allons, come along," said Jules, taking his elbow. They walked down the Rue Chartres, passed several corners, and by and by turned into a cross street.
They were very badly off, and would have been very glad of a few soup tickets; but, as the man said, "Who'd believe me if aw were to go an' ax for relief?" I was told of two young fellows, unemployed factory hands, meeting one day, when one said to the other, "Thae favvurs hungry, Jone." "Nay, aw's do yet, for that," replied Jone.
"Goin' to de dev'," said the sweetly-smiling yonng man. The schooner-captain, leaning against the shrouds, and even Baptiste, laughed outright. "O Jools, you mustn't!" "Well, den, w'at I shall do wid it?" "Any thing!" answered the parson; "better donate it away to some poor man" "Ah! Misty Posson Jone', dat is w'at I want. You los' five hondred dollar' 'twas me fault." "No, it wa'n't, Jools."
But I wouldn't cry about it. I don't believe the case'll last more'n a day. "The old man harnessed up an' took Jone to the court-house, an' I went too, for I might as well keep up the idea of a bridal-trip as not. I went up into the gallery, and Jone, he was set among the other men in the jury-box.
Rilligion is a very strange; I know a man one time, he thing it was wrong to go to cock-fight Sunday evening. I thing it is all 'abit. Mais, come, Posson Jone'; I have got one friend, Miguel; led us go at his house and ged some coffee. Come; Miguel have no familie; only him and Joe always like to see friend; allons, led us come yonder."
Philip Slotman sat in his office; he was slowly deciphering a letter, ill-written and badly spelled. "According to promise I am writing to you hopeing it finds you as it leaves me at present. Dear sir, having some news I am writing to tell you saime. Yesterday Mr. John Everard of Buddesby was here and him and Miss Jone was in the garden for a long time.
And quhair ye say ye have not lang to lyif I trust to God to go before you, albeit I be on foot, and ye ryd the post: praying you also not to dispost my hoste at Newark, Jone of Kelsterne. This I pray you partly for his awyn sake quhame I tho't ane gude fellow, and partly at request of such as I dare not refuse.
"Well, on the mornin' of the next day I went into the little front room that they called the office, to see if there was a letter for us yet, an' there wasn't nobody there to ask. But I saw a pile of letters under a weight on the table, an' I jus' looked at these to see if one of 'em was for us, an' if there wasn't the very letter Jone had written to the doctor! They'd never sent it!
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