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He gat him on to his knees anent t' penitential forms at after t' sarvice, an' there were a two-three more wi' him; an' t' preacher an' me wrastled wi' t' devil for their souls. I've niver seen sich tewin' o' t' spirit sin I becom a Methody.
Satterwhite, as he stretched his feet in his new velvet slippers that matched the carpet in that room, "I'd like a nice, new Methody hymn-book to be put on the table for the old lady to read outen on Sunday evenings."
He was a remarkable man altogether, and he died of a seizure in the Waterloo year; an earnest Methody all his days, and towards the end a highly respected class-leader. To tell you the truth, he wasn't much to look at, being bald as a coot and blind of one eye, besides other defects. His mother let him run too soon, and that made his legs bandy. And then a bee stung him, and all his hair came off.
Wal what sort o' thing is't anyhow?" "My religion is of the right sort, Brother Holt." "Methody?" "Nothing of the kind." "What then? I thort they wur all Methodies in Swampville?" "They're all Gentiles in Swampville worse than infidels themselves." "Wal I know they brag mightily on thur genteelity. I reckon you're about right thur them, storekeepers air stuck-up enough for anythin'."
I shall not leave you until you give your consent. One day you will wish me to do as I have planned I feel it within me; something is leading me, and our hearts will soon be one in my plan of life." "It may be so, Gretchen. I have had a hard time, goin' out to service when I was a girl. My only happy days were during the old Methody preaching of Jason Lee. I thought I owned the heavens then.
An' the ould man Mazarine part rhinoceros and part Methody, he is. An' what do ye be thinkin' of him they call Giggles, that almost guv his life to save the ould behemoth! Doesn't he remind you of the zebra, where the wild Hottentots come from smart and handsome, but that showy, all stripes and tail and fetlock! D'ye unnerstand what I mean, y'r anner?"
But warst o' a' was bein' pent in the close hot hulks 'tween decks, whaur ye couldna stan' upricht wi'out knocking your heid again the timmers, and whaur ye gat na a sough o' the blessed air o' heaven save what stole in through the wee port-holes. How we tholed it sae lang I dinna ken. We faured better after yon Methody parson came." "Ay, he wor a good un, he wor," said Tom.
Half an hour afterward, with a big plate of moose-steak before him and a big mug of coffee at his lips, Smoke half-started up from his seat. He had heard the sounds first. Lucy threw open the door. "Hello, Spike; hello, Methody," she greeted the two frost-rimed men who were bending over the burden on their sled.
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