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Updated: June 14, 2025
Heard so much talkin, callated suthin must a happened, an turned out ter see what it wuz. Fetched any news, hev ye Reub? Spit it aout. Guess it muss be pooty good, or the cap'n would'n be lookin so darned pleased." "The news I fetched is that the army in Stockbridge is going to attack you to-morrow at dawn." Abner's jaw fell.
Then he'd know what work was. Ac-cordin' to my notion, ministers have a pooty easy time." Mr. Tudor was of the same opinion. "It's all nonsense, deacon," he said. "Father wanted me to be a minister, and I'd have had a good deal easier time if I had followed his advice." "You wouldn't have had so much money, Mr. Tudor," said Miss Lucretia Spring, who heard this remark.
"H'm! well, I do," answered Long; "and you a'n't never goin' to take up with a Tory? don't think it's yer dooty, hey?" "No indeed!" flashed Sally. "Do you think I'd marry a Britisher? I'd run away and live with the Indians first." "Pooty good! pooty good! you're calk'lating to make George into a rebel, I 'xpect?"
"Lord!" ejaculated his wife. "All them?" "All them," replied Rawdy, moodily triumphant. "Well," said his wife, "that ain't the point." "No, it ain't," agreed Rawdy. "The point is," said she, "is he agoin' to or ain't he agoin' to pay." "That's so," said Rawdy. "He's a-owin' everybody, ain't he?" said the wife. "Pooty near, I guess."
It's only a cow-shed, ye know." "Guess, though, ye won't want the nails druv no less p'ticler, will ye, Deac'n?" inquired Hay. "But I tell yer what I'll do I'll throw off fifty cents a day." "Two dollars ort to be enough, George," resumed the Deacon. "Carpenterin's pooty work, an' takes a sight of headpiece sometimes, but there's no intellec' required to work on a cow-shed.
I donno's 't 's goin' to be much uv a place for carpet-weavin' though, anywheres raound 'n this yer country; not but what thar's plenty o' rags, but folks seems to be wearin' 'em; pooty gen'ral wear, I sh'd say. I've seen more cloes on folks' backs hyar, thet wan't no more'n fit for carpet-rags, than any place ever I struck.
It's pooty. 'There's another one, I said 'falls, water coming down, and trees. 'Well, I declare, so it is! And that's jest a make-believe? I s'pose I can go round and look? 'Certainly. And the old fellow tiptoed round the parlor, peering at all the pictures in a confused state of mind, and with a guilty look of enjoyment.
I only kissed the face of the beautiful child, and Louis said: "My Emily's name is fit for the daughter of a king. God bless the little namesake," and Althea Emily gave utterance to a protracted "goo," which meant, of course, yes. You should have heard her talk, though, when Matthias came over to see "Miss Molly." "Come shufflin' over to see you," he said, "an' O my! but aint she jest as pooty.
Silas Peckham, "Miss Darley, she's pooty much took up with the school. She's an industris young. woman, yis, she is industris, but perhaps she a'n't quite so spry a worker as some. Maybe, considerin' she's paid for her time, she is n't fur out o' the way in occoopyin' herself evenin's, that is, if so be she a'n't smart enough to finish up all her work in the daytime.
"I don't see nothin' so drefful pooty in dat ar molasses color." "Now ye shut up," rejoined Tulee. "Missy Rosy knows what she's 'bout. Ye see Mr. Fitzgerald was in love with Missy Eulaly; an' Henret's husban' took care o' him when he was dying. Mr.
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