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"Posson Jone'," said Jules, leaning against the wall and smiling, "I swear you is the moz funny man I ever see. If I was you I would say, me, 'Ah! 'ow I am lucky! the money I los', it was not mine, anyhow! My faith! shall a man make hisse'f to be the more sorry because the money he los' is not his? Me, I would say, 'it is a specious providence. "Ah!
"All right!" cried the Creole; "I thing he's willin'. Adieu, Posson Jone'. My faith'! you are the so fighting an' moz rilligious man as I never saw! Adieu! Adieu!" Baptiste uttered a cry and presently ran by his master toward the schooner, his hands full of clods.
Hah! you is the moz brave dat I never see, mais ad the same time the moz rilligious man. Where I'm goin' to fin' one priest to make like dat? Mais, why you can't cheer up an' be 'appy? Me, if I should be miserabl' like that I would kill meself." The countryman only shook his head. "Bien, Posson Jone', I have the so good news for you." The prisoner looked up with eager inquiry.
"I was to of left for home to-morrow, sun-up, on the Isabella schooner. Pore Smyrny!" He deeply sighed. "Posson Jone'," said Jules, leaning against the wall and smiling, "I swear you is the moz funny man I ever see. If I was you I would say, me, 'Ah!
And coming accrozz, the father ship-fever die', and arriving, the passage is pay by the devil know' who'. "Then my father he tell them that chile muz' be orpheline at two-three year', biccause while seeming so white she never think she wasn' black. "And so my father, coming ad that village the moz' unhappy in the worl', he went away negs day the moz' happy.
"All right!" cried the Creole; "I thing he's willin'. Adieu, Posson Jone'. My faith'! you are the so fighting an' moz rilligious man as I never saw! Adieu! Adieu!" Baptiste uttered a cry and presently ran by his master toward the schooner, his hands full of clods. St.
An' we are convince' though tha'z not ab-out clocks, neither angels, neither lovers yet same time tha'z a moz' marvellouz manuscrip'. Biccause, you know, tha'z a true story, that 'Holy Crozz. Tha'z concerning an insurregtion of slave' there in Santa Cruz. And 'a slave insurregtion, tha'z what they ought to call it, yes! to prom-ote the sale.
Misty Posson Jone'," he continued, "you make a so droll sermon ad the bull-ring. Ha! ha! I swear I think you can make money to preach thad sermon many time ad the theatre St. Philippe. Hah! you is the moz brave dat I never see, mais ad the same time the moz rilligious man. Where I'm goin' to fin' one priest to make like dat? Mais, why you can't cheer up an' be 'appy?
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