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Updated: May 11, 2025
"Dun no, Missis," said the image, with a grin that showed all her teeth. "Don't know how old you are? Didn't anybody ever tell you? Who was your mother?" "Never had none!" said the child, with another grin. "Never had any mother? What do you mean? Where were you born?"
"Pretty well, Miss Kate; leastways, I'se well enough, a'n't so pretty." "What is his name?" whispered Helen. "'Annible, Missis," said the attentive Capua, whose eyes had been for some time oscillating with indecision between Helen Heath and Mrs. Laudersdale. "Hannibal Raleigh's my name; though Massa alwes call me Cap," he added, insinuatingly, which, by the way, "Massa" never had been known to do.
She said, "Never mind, Missis. Fire, he no burn." A gas stove was available, and Jinny jumped and exclaimed as the blue flame sprang from nowhere. Wherever the lady of the house pleased to apply a match the fire came. Next morning Mickie was brought round to witness the wonder, Jinny asking "Missis. You show 'em Mickie fire jump up all about!"
"I thought you said the name was Daverill," said Miss Hawkins, taking the opportunity to release a curl-paper at a looking-glass behind bottles. It was just upon time to open, and the barmaid had got her Sunday out. "Why the Hell shouldn't the name be Daverill? In course I did! Ask your pardon for swearing, missis...." This was to the visitor, who had begun to want to go.
"Soon he wakes up, kind o' startled, and sez, 'Missis, let that dog in; he won't let me get a wink o' sleep. 'You silly man, I sez, 'you've been fast asleep for three-quarters of a' hour. 'Why, he sez, 'I've been wide awake all the time, listenin' to the dog whinin' and scratchin' at the door, and I was too tired to get up and let him in.
"How ever did you get that along the narrow path through the thicket, Joe?" inquired Sybil. "You may well ax that, Missis. I had to lay it down endways, and drag it. Howsever, I has got all the things through the worst part of the way now, and they's all out in the church-yard," answered Joe, recovering his breath, and starting for the remaining goods.
Without giving the questions put to him by this writer, his remarks given in the first person and as near his own idiom are as follows: "I'll be ninety years old next December. I dunno the day. My Missis had the colored folks ages written in a book but it was destroyed when the Confederate soldiers came through.
And the female domestics two robust sisters, with staring black eyes, shining flat red faces, blunt noses, and strong black curls, like dolls interchanged the sentiment that Missis had had her hair combed the wrong way by somebody. And the pot-boy afterwards remarked, that he hadn't been 'so rattled to bed', since his late mother had systematically accelerated his retirement to rest with a poker.
Why, you must be crazy; that dancing must 'ave got into your 'ead." "Where's the 'arm?" he ses, very sulky. "'Arm?" I ses. "I won't 'ave it, that's all; and if you knew my missis you'd know without any telling." "I'll bet you a pound to a sixpence she wouldn't know me," he ses, very earnest. "She won't 'ave the chance," I ses, "so that's all about it."
"There's been a young sarsebox making inquiry arter you, missis," said this artist, striving with a lump of putty that no incorporation could ever persuade to become equal to new. He was making it last out, not to get another half-a-pound just yet a while. "Couldn't say his name, but I rather fancy he belongs in at the end house."
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