Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 31, 2025
Wentworth said to her, "Should that gentleman, who was here to-day, call at any time again, let me know before you admit him." "Yes, mistis," replied the negro with a curtsey. Mr. Horace Awtry was a native of the State of New York, and was, at the time of writing, about thirty-live years of age.
A fierce and unreasonable rage possessed him. She had dismantled the room that his little mother had arranged for him and sent his things to a servant's room! Was this insult intentional, he wondered? To his mind, his "little Mother" was so entirely the presiding genius of the place he could not realize the right of anyone, not even a "new mistis," to come in and "change the house around."
The woman's voice astonished me, for she spoke the dialect of the American tide-water. "I should like to see Mrs. Clive," I answered. The door closed a shade. "Mistis sick, she ain't see nobody," said the woman. She closed the door a little more, and I felt tempted to put my foot in the crack. "Tell her that Mr. David Ritchie is here," I said. There was an instant's silence, then an exclamation.
Horton read: "MY DEAR B'LOVED HUSBUN': Miss Marthy Jane takes my pen in han' ter let yer know I's well, an' our childun's well, an' all the black folks is tolerbul well 'cept Juno: her's got the polsy tolerbul bad. All the white folks 'bout yere is will 'cept mistis: her's got the dumps.
We are none of us in a mood for trifling to-day." Then the old woman's wrath burst out. "You 'speck I'se feared ter speak fer dat chile w'at stan' by me so? Bettah be keerful yosef, mistis; you alls gittin' on ve'y scarey groun' wid Miss Lou. You tink you kin do wid her w'at you pleases des ez ef she a lil gyurl baby. I reck'n her moder come out'n her grabe ter look arter you ef you ain' keerful."
The servant returned, saying, 'Mistis says she is a widder, and there ain't no gentleman in the house, and she can't let you come in. She was sent with a second message, which informed the lady that the visitors were from Richmond, members of a certain company from there, and would be content with permission to sleep on the porch, in the stable, or in the barn.
Blount saw his last chance for better information vanishing for the night, and once more broke with the traditions. "Uncle Barnabas, before you go, suppose you tell me where I am," he suggested. "Whose house is this?" The old man stopped on the threshold, chuckling gleefully. "A-ain't you know dat, sah? a-ain't de mistis done tell you dat?
Us had a song' bout 'im dat went lak dis: 'Jefferson Davis rode de milk white steed, Lincoln rode de mule. Jeff Davis was a mighty fine man, An' Lincoln was a fool. "One o' de little gals was a-singin' dat song one day an' she mixed dem names up. She had it dat Marse Davis was de fool. I'se laughed 'bout dat many a time. When Mistis finished wid' er she had sho' broke her from suckin' eggs.
"Yah!" he screamed, choking out the muddy creek water that had well-nigh strangled him. "Yah! red debbil Injins kill ebberybody and tote off Mistis Marg'y and dat Jeanne 'ooman! Dat's what dey done!"
My young Mistis Mars D'Willerby bought me from, I've raised three o' hern, an' I'm used to bilin' it right and d'lutin' it down right. Dar's a heap in de d'lutin'. Dis yere bottle's ready now, Mis' Doty, ef ye want it." "It's the very bottle I raised Martin Luther on," said Mrs. Doty. "It brings back ole times to see it. She takes it purty well, don't she? Massy sakes!
Word Of The Day
Others Looking