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Updated: May 21, 2025
"What is it?" "Law, honey, it ain't wrote. Dem Dago folks hain't got no writin' ner readin'. Dey mo' er less like de beasts er de fiel'. Dat message by word er mouf. I goin' tell nuffin 'bout de quahumteem. I'm gotter say: 'Toby sen' word to liebuh Augustine dat she needn' worry.
I'se done been young, en I'se now ole, en I ain' never seed de devil stick his mouf in anybody's bizness 'fo' he's axed." She bent over and raked the ashes from her cake with a lightwood splinter. "Dis yer's gwine tase moughty flat-footed," she grumbled as she did so. "O Aunt Ailsey," wailed Betty in despair. The tears shone in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.
My mamma puts soap in my mouf, when I do it," he added, with an artless frankness which appeared to be characteristic of him. Then abruptly he changed the subject. "Ve cook has gone, and mamma made such a funny pudding, last night," he announced. "It stuck and broke ve dish to get it out. Good-bye. Vis is where I live."
"Gamma, I hasn't been a-touchin' your 'serves," repeated the little thief. "Ah, don't tell me that," said grandma, sadly; "I see it in your eye!" "What, gamma, the 'serves in my eye?" said Flyaway, putting up her finger to find out for herself. "'Cause I put 'em in my mouf, I did." Mrs.
See, the green leaves spread like curtains Round the tiny bed, While the mother's wings, outstretching, Shield the tiny head?" As her voice died slowly into silence, she found Ethel looking over her shoulder and nodding her head. "No; I won't tell," she said loudly. "Tell what?" asked Ruth, amused. "Hush! He put his finger on his mouf sh!" "Who?" asked Ruth, turning her head hurriedly.
The people were distinctly bewildered. This silent, cold man, was this John? Where was his smile and hearty hand-grasp? "'Peared kind o' down in the mouf," said the Methodist preacher thoughtfully. "Seemed monstus stuck up," complained a Baptist sister. But the white postmaster from the edge of the crowd expressed the opinion of his folks plainly.
Dey lump de vittles up in one pile, en de butter w'at Brer Fox brung, dey goes en puts in de spring-'ouse fer ter keep cool, en den dey went ter wuk, en 'twan't long 'fo' Brer Rabbit's stummuck 'gun ter sorter growl en pester 'im. Dat butter er Brer Fox sot heavy on his mine, en his mouf water eve'y time he 'member 'bout it.
"Oh, you shut up!" responded Pete York "you s'pose I'm going to b'lieve any such gas as dat? You look like paying more money than Jew Mike, and not a decent coat on your back! Hush up your mouf, or you'll get this knife a-twixt your ribs in less than no time."
He diggy, diggy, diggy, but no meat dar! "Kase all de time de cow wuz layin' pile up in his smoke-'ouse, en him en his chilluns wuz eatin' fried beef an inguns eve'y time dey mouf water.
Bruno said with a slight yawn. "I don't like eating worms, one bit. I always stop in bed till the early bird has picked them up!" "I wonder you've the face to tell me such fibs!" cried the Gardener. To which Bruno wisely replied "Oo don't want a face to tell fibs wiz only a mouf." Sylvie discreetly changed the subject. "And did you plant all these flowers?" she said.
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