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Updated: June 10, 2025
The fire which had swept him on left him now of a sudden, his arms hung down at his sides, his head drooped. It was Mate Snow who broke the silence, falling back a step, as if he had been struck. "God forgive me," he said in awe. "And I have kept you here. You! To preach the word of God to these people. God forgive me!" "I think Mista God laugh, yes."
"Aunt Julia says all her callers that ever came to this house in their lives, Kitty Silver never got the name right of a single one of 'em!" "Newland Sanders is the one with the little moustache," Florence said. "Is that the one you mean by 'Sammerses, Kitty Silver?" "Mista Sammerses who you' Aunt Julia tole me," Mrs. Silver responded stubbornly.
I wonder if they do have 'em any place, cat-washwomen." "I don' know if they got 'em some place," said Kitty Silver, "an' I don't know if they ain't got 'em no place; but I bet if they do got 'em any place, it's some place else from here!" Florence looked thoughtful. "Who was it you said is going to call this evening and see 'em?" "Mista Sammerses." "She means Newland Sanders," Herbert explained.
A nun in grey, who moaned and wrung her hands, remained in the room for a short time, but was obviously quite automatic. I slept till the hot water was brought in the morning. In the post-Christian myths of the Teutonic race settled in England, no figure appears more frequently and more mysteriously than that of Gladstone or Mista Gladstone.
"Mista God," he went on in the same speculative tone, "Mista God know allee bad things, allee same like Mista Yen Sin, yes?" "Where is the minister?" I demanded in desperation. "Mista Yen Sin likee see Mista Minista." When he added, with a transparent hand fluttering over his heart: "Like see pletty quick now," I seemed to fathom for the first time what was happening to him.
Yen Sin asked me to light the lamp. In the waxing yellow glow he turned his eyes to mine, and mine were big. "You know Mista God?" he questioned. "Oh, yes," I answered soberly. "Yes, indeed." "Mista God allee same like Mista Yen Sin, yes?" I felt myself paling at his blasphemy, and thought of lightning.
Her tone had become one of reminiscent amusement, which culminated in a burst of laughter. "Whee!" she concluded. "After las' night, I reckon thishere Mista Dills better keep away from the place yes'm!" Florence looked thoughtful, and for the time said nothing. It was Herbert who asked: "Why'd Noble Dill better stay away from here?" "You' grampaw," Mrs. Silver said, shaking her head.
In some respects she was not unlike Scott's Ulrica, and had she been given to cursing, she would certainly have done so in the names of Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock. Not having submitted to the embraces of any polluting Normans, as poor Ulrica had done, and having assisted no parricide, the milk of human kindness was not curdled in her bosom. She never cursed, therefore, but blessed rather.
Mista Sammerses, he give her them two Berjum cats, an' ole Mister Ridgways whut los' his wife, he give you' Aunt Julia them two canaries that tuck an' hopped out the cage an' then out the window, las' week, one day, when you' grampaw was alone in the room with 'em; an' Mista George Plummers, he give her that Airydale dog you' grampaw tuck an' give to the milkman; an' Mista Ushers, he give her them two pups whut you' grampaw tuck an' skeer off the place soon as he laid eyes on 'em, an' thishere Mista Clairidge, he give her that ole live allagatuh from Florida whut I foun' lookin' at me over the aidge o' my kitchen sink ugly ole thing! an' you' grampaw tuck an' give it to the greenhouse man.
"What did Aunt Julia say?" Florence asked. "Whut you' Aunt Julia say when?" "When you told her these were gray cats and not white cats?" "She tole me take an' clean 'em," said Kitty Silver. "She say, she say she want 'em clean' up spick an' spang befo' Mista Sammerses git here to call an' see 'em." And she added morosely: "I ain't no cat-washwoman!" "She wants you to bathe 'em?"
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