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"Well, my invice is dis," said Uncle Bob, "fur ter go ter yer pa, an' tell him de truff; state all de konkumstances des like dey happen; don't lebe out none er de facks; tell him you're sorry yer 'haved so onstreperous, an' ax him fur ter furgib yer; an' ef he do, wy dat's all right; an' den ef he don't, wy yer mus' 'bide by de kinsequonces.
Injuns jes' cut off the hair and call it sculpin', don't they, Mammy?" "Lor', chile," replied Mammy, "I dunno, honey; I allers hyeard dat Injuns wuz monstrous onstreperous, an' I wouldn't play no sich er game." But "Injuns, Injuns, Injuns!" persisted all the little folks, and Mammy had to yield. The big chair was put in the middle of the room, and the little girls got in.
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