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Updated: June 8, 2025
You're as good an old thing as ever breathed, I'm sure of that, and the Lord will reward you if he ever does any one, white or black." "Does you think that, honey?" "Indeed I do." "Well, sometimes I thinks the Lord ain' goin' to fergive me fer all ther devilment I done when I was l'il. You know, Miss Ma'y Ellen, hit take a life er prayer to wipe out ouah transgresshuns.
Anyway our old Doctor Wallis came in, and he saw me, with my hair all hanging in curls, and a little blue dress on, and he called out, 'Look here, Ma'y Lou Duval, ain't you too old to be playin' with dolls?" Mary had often heard this, but she laughed, and Mr.
She had the bundle in her hand when Sophy came up. "Lemme tote yo' bundle fer yer, Miss Ma'y?" she asked eagerly. "I 'm gwine yo' way." "Thank you, Sophy," was the reply. "I 'll be glad if you will." Sophy followed the teacher at a respectful distance. When they reached Miss Myrover's home, Sophy carried the bundle to the doorstep, where Miss Myrover took it and thanked her. Mrs.
"Yes, I have, son; I've completely lost my way." The child twisted his head around and peered up alongside Peter's arm. Presently he asked: "Ain't you Mr. Peter Siner?" "Yes." "Ain't you de man whut's gwine to ma'y Miss Cissie Dildine?" Peter looked down at his small companion with a certain concern that his marriage was already gossip known to babes. "I'm Peter Siner," he repeated.
Honeywell!" he said, delightedly, and Mary saw her mother give him a cordial greeting before she said: "And now, George, I want you to know my little girl, Ma'y, Miss Bannister. Ma'y, this is my Southe'n boy I was telling you about!" Mary, turning unsmiling eyes, was quite sure the man would be nearer forty than thirty, as indeed he was, grizzled and rather solid into the bargain.
It ain't fitten fer a ole nigger 'ooman to be prayin' erroun' whah white folks is. You kain't seem to let out good an' free; 'n ef I kain't let out good an' free, 'pears like I don't git no hol' on salvation. We all po' weak sinners, Miss Ma'y Ellen." "Yes, I know, Lucy."
"I 'low, honey," an old woman had said, "she'll mek his heart ache many a time. She'll comb his haid wid a three-legged stool an' bresh it wid de broom. Uh, huh putty, is she? You ma'y huh 'cause she putty. Ki-yi! She fix you! Putty women fu' putty tricks." And the old hag smacked her lips over the spice of malevolence in her words.
Now, how kin I pray, not to say pray, out yer, in this yer lan'? They ain't a chu'ch in a hunderd mile o' yer, so fer's I kin tell, an' they shoh'ly ain't no chu'ch fer cullud folks. Law me, Miss Ma'y Ellen, they ain't ary nother nigger out yer nowheres, an' you don' know how lonesome I does git!
They forgot the dance, they forgot all but their love. "An' you won't ma'y nobody else but me, Martha?" "You know I won't, Gidjon." "But I mus' wait de yeah out?" "Yes, an' den don't you think Mas' Stone'll let us have a little cabin of ouah own jest outside de quahtahs?" "Won't it be blessid?
"Chick-chick-chick-chickee!" called Mary Ellen, bending over the fence of the chicken yard, and noting with pleasure the hurrying, clacking throng of fowls that answered and swarmed about her. "Chick, chick, chick!" "I'll be thah t'reckly wif ther feed, Miss Ma'y Ellen," called out Aunt Lucy from the kitchen. And presently she emerged and joined her mistress at the corral.
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