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Updated: May 9, 2025
Anyhow, I hadn't seen a white woman for years, and she was a fine lump of a woman, and I got on a bit of a spree for a week or so, you know half-tight all the time; and it seems some sort of a parson a mish'nary to the blacks chanced along and married us. She had her lines and everything all right, but I don't remember much about it.
"Who read the service, parson or priest?" "Neither. A mish'nary. Mish'nary to the blacks." "Is he alive?" "No, he died out there. He was sick then, wid the Queensland fever." "What was his name?" "Mr. Nettleship." "Was the marriage ever registered?" "Sorra one of me knows. He giv us each a bit of paper our marriage lines. 'Twas written in pencil.
Billy was in the swing in Miss Minerva's yard. "Come on over," he invited. "I can't," was the reply across the fence, "I'm so good now I 'bout got 'ligion; I reckon I'm going to be a mish'nary or a pol'tician, one or t' other when I'm a grownup man 'cause I'm so good; I ain't got but five whippings this week. I been good ever since I let you 'suade me to play Injun.
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