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"Can't we go with you?" asked the boys. "Well, nor, I reckon you better not," he drawled; "thar's some right bad dogs down thar in the pines, mons'us bad; an' I's gwine cut through the woods an' see ef I can't pick up a squ'rr'l, gwine 'long, for the ole 'ooman's supper, as I got to go 'way to-night or to-morrow; she's mighty poorly." "Is she poorly much?" asked Willy, greatly concerned.
The wind's fit to tear the lamp-posts up by the roots." "But this is not the way home," objected the girl. "That's true, Miss May, it ain't, but I'm only goin' round a bit by St. Paul's Churchyard. There's a shop there where they sell the sausages my old 'ooman's so fond of. It don't add more than a few yards to the road home." The old 'ooman to whom Solomon Flint referred was his grandmother.
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