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Updated: May 3, 2025
If a major-general was in command, and ordered a brigadier-general to do a thing and it was a success, the major-general got the credit in the newspapers. So I rode into camp and turned my prisoner over to the major as modestly as possible, with a few words of praise of my gallant command. Hello, Jim, said the major to the rebel. Hello, Maje, said the rebel.
"Uncle Maje when I grow up, I'm going off to be a brakeman." "I know it," I said quietly. "Won't it be just fine!" "It's the very finest life in all the world. I hoped for it myself once, but I was disappointed." He gave me a quick look of sympathy. "Wouldn't they let you?" "Well, they were afraid I'd be hurt only I knew I wouldn't be anything to speak of a couple of fingers, perhaps "
I happen to know that in a former existence he was never even asked to write, though he always hoped he might be." "I'm sorry if you like him, Uncle Maje, but I'm positive that Fatty Budlow is not a boy I could ever feel deeply for. I don't believe our acquaintance will even ripen into friendship," and she looked with profound eyes into the wondrous, opening future. "Of course it won't," I said.
Minervy’s boy was even now making his appearance, carrying a good sized bundle of papers and letters, with which he walked boldly up to Hosmer, plainly impressed with the importance of this new rôle. “Well, colonel; so you’ve taken Sampson’s place?” Hosmer observed, receiving the mail from the boy’s little black paws. “My name’s Major, suh. Maje; dats my name.
"Well, you bet your life he's a heap higher'n that now," said another, who had chanced to be at the station when the Gordons, father and son, left the train together. "He's a half a head taller than the old man, an' built like one o' Maje' Dabney's thoroughbreds. But I reckon he ain't nothin' but a school-boy, for all o' that." "Gar-r-r!" spat a third.
My namesake poised himself on the foot that had no stone-bruise and began: "Now, Uncle Maje, I told her she could be engineer after we got to the next station " His tones were those of benevolence that has been ill-requited.
Any relation to old Maje Corbin of Nashville, sir?" "No," said the stranger briefly. "I'm from Shelbyville." "The Major," continued the Colonel, half closing his eyes as if to follow the Major into the dreamy past, "the old Major, sir, a matter of five or six years ago, was one of my most intimate political friends, in fact, sir, my most intimate friend. Take a chyar!"
"That's my spring, Nan Bryerson," he warned her dictatorially. The girl looked up and scoffed. Hers was a face made for scoffing: oval and finely lined, with a laughing mouth and dark eyes that had both the fear and the fierceness of wild things in them. "Shucks! it ain't your spring any more'n it's mine!" she retorted. "Hit's on Maje' Dabney's land."
"And aspreading himself like a green bay tree, I reckon," said the old man. "I've lopped a few branches off that rascal in my time, and if I have any luck I'll lop off a few more at this meeting.... Ole Maje Pettigrew is still the presiding judge here, ain't he?" "Sure. They can't get rid of him." "A lot of crooks would like to." There was a trace of grimness in the old man's tone.
I recollect seein' ole Maje, he's our principal tom-cat, seein' him creepin' along a rail fence nearly half a mile from the house so's he wouldn't have to cross a stretch o' wet ground jist outside the kitchen door. Now, a dog would have splashed right through it an' took the consequences.
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