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Doctor, Ah don' know's Ah ever knew a baby 's was 's lively 's Sydney M'lissy." "Common failing o' first babies," grunted the Doctor. "Now mos' babies," pursued Bud, spreading out his scarf and the pieces of burlap to dry before the blaze, "mos' babies ain' overly interestin', but Ah 'low Ah never saw a baby suck her thumb no prettier'n Sydney M'lissy!" "Did you-all say something about a letter?"
If she likes green wood for the kitchen fire, and fotchin' it mos' times for herself, that's her business, not mine." "If you do that, Mike, she'll leave," said Phoebe. Mike gave himself a general shrug. "She can't leave," said he, "till Miss Panney tells her she kin." Phoebe laughed and rose.
"Well, I mos' furgits de zack meanin'," said the old man, scratching his head; "hit's some kin' er writin', do, jes like Miss Diddie say; but, let erlone dat, hit's in de squshionary, an' yer ma kin fin' hit fur yer, an' 'splain de zack meanin' uv de word; but de Defemation uv Ondepen'ence, hit happened on de fuss Fourf uv July, an' hit happens ev'ry Fourf uv July sence den; an' dat's 'cordin 'ter my onderstandin' uv hit," said Uncle Rob, whipping up his horses.
"Yes, that will be the best for all parties." He often questioned the doctor in his blunt way how soon the desired event might be expected to come off, if at all. The doctor still answered per ambages, ut mos oraculis. "I see I must go myself No, I won't, I'll send Fry. Ah, here is Hodges. Go and see the parson, and come back and tell me whether he is like to live or like to die. Mr.
"Aunt Minerva," he presently asked, "what sorter patches 'd you ruther wear on yo' pants, blue patches or brown?" "On my what?" she asked, looking at him severely over her paper. "I mean if you's me," he hastily explained. "Don't you think blue patches is the mos' nat'ral lookin'?" "What are you driving at, William?" she asked; but without waiting for his answer she went on with her reading.
What-all's yo' name?" The girl giggled deliciously. "Man," she said, "I shu got the mos' reediculoustest name you eveh did heah. They call me Vashti yo' bacon's bu'nin'." She stepped out, and ran past him to snatch his skillet deftly from the fire. "Vashti" a strange and delightful name. Gideon followed her slowly.
"Why, the lad does na swear nor say bad words." "What else?" "He's tidy wi' the clothes, an' he wull be clean." "What else?" "What else? wull, they be times when he says things to ye so quick like, so bright like, so lofty like, 'at ye'd mos' think he was na human like the rest o' us. An' 'e fears naught, ye canna mak' 'im afeard o' doin' what's richt.
"Don't be an ass, pater." "Cut me some bread, Bob, please," said Tilly hastily. "Mos' extraor'nary thing!" persisted the Uncle. "Or good Lord, mother, can it be my monthly attack of D.T.'s beginning already? They're not due, you know, till next week, Monday, five o'clock." "Dear, DON'T be so silly. Besides it's my scent, not yours. And anyone is welcome to it."
So Tom turns to the nigger, which was looking wild and distressed, and says, kind of severe: "What do you reckon's the matter with you, anyway? What made you think somebody sung out?" "Oh, it's de dad-blame' witches, sah, en I wisht I was dead, I do. Dey's awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos' kill me, dey sk'yers me so.
These reduced me at once to submission, and I am almost ashamed to confess that, either through pain or vexation, there came a few tears into my eyes. "Mein Gott!" said the Angel of the Odd, apparently much softened at my distress; "mein Gott, te man is eder ferry dronk or ferry zorry. You mos not trink it so strong you mos put te water in te wine.
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