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Updated: May 1, 2025
The only lad ever I had, and my first-born. Dear o' me, I mind how proud I was when they telled me 'twas a lad. 'A fine lad, said the woman as did for me. Eh, I thought my heart 'ud fair burst wi' joy! An' he wur sech a gradely little chap, so peart an' lively, crowin' an' laughin' from morn till neet. Dear, yes soon as ever leet coom he'd come creepin' up to our bed an' pull at the sheet.
I'd been a wukkin' right peart in de new-ground dat day, an' when I got ter dat pine thicket jes past de spring by de Brook's place, 'twixt de Haw Ribber an' Stony Fork, 'long 'bout nine o'clock I reckon, I wuz dat done out dat I jes takes a drink at de spring, eats a bite o' bread an' meat, hunts a close place under de pines, an' goes ter sleep right away.
Far off to the south, when the air is keen and the sun shines bright, you can see the blue mountains. The window of the barn loft looks that way. When I ain't feeling right peart, I go out to the barn and climb up to the loft. I used to keep a joint of stove pipe up there. When I held that tight to my face I could look through and see nothing but them hills.
I'll surely make it right. "Course he had to!" growled the lumberman, and he passed the paper round. "Oncommon peart baby," said Skid, at last. "Dreadful cold shack, though!" muttered Bates, conveying a quarter of a griddlecake to his mouth. "That's just it," said Pose, scowling.
'Melia, she was a peart, lively little gal, with snappin' black eyes, an' consid'ble of a will of her own; an' Mis' Meeker, she was pooty stout, an' she took things easy, jest as they kem, an' let the children an' 'Melia specially do pooty much as they'd a mind to.
"They ain't no good except for young fools to gallop around with over a floor." He poured some more olive oil over the bandages, and relented enough to add: "All but The Lily, and she don't dance with none of 'em. She's all right, she is. Mighty peart looker, too. None purtier than Dorothy Presby, though."
"De noo house boy kotch on monst'us fas', en it wa'n't no time ha'dly befo' Mars' Dugal' en ole mis' bofe 'mence' ter 'low Hannibal wuz de bes' house boy dey eber had. He wuz peart en soopl', quick ez lightnin', en sha'p ez a razor. But Chloe didn' lak his ways.
Come along, you, an' be monty peart about hit, fur we're in a powerful bad frame o' mind ter be fooled with. I wouldn't gin a fi'-penny-bit fur all yer blue-bellied life's worth. The boys ar jest pizen mad from seein' so many o' thar kin and folks killed by yer crowd o' thievin' Hessians."
Cheerfulness and alertness seemed to return to him, and a quietness which no insult or injury could ruffle seemed to possess him. "What the devil's got into Tom?" Legree said to Sambo. "A while ago he was all down in the mouth, and now he's peart as a cricket." "Dunno, Mas'r; gwine to run off, mebbe." "Like to see him try that," said Legree, with a savage grin, "wouldn't we, Sambo?"
It's going on nine now." "Surest thing you know! That span of mine can stroll along mighty peart. Once I get out on the flat, we'll burn the breeze." "Come over here, then," said Zurich. "I want you to take some cash and send it down to the bank by express about eight hundred; and some checks besides. I can't wait for the stage it won't get there till to-morrow night.
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