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"Hush sit down! hush!" said Charles Thompson, hurriedly endeavoring to extricate himself from the embrace of his unexpected guest. "Look at 'm!" continued the stranger, unheeding the admonition, but suddenly holding the unfortunate Charles at arm's length, in loving and undisguised admiration of his festive appearance. "Look at 'm! Ain't he nasty? Sha'ls, I'm prow of yer!"
"Leave the house!" said Mr. Thompson, rising, with a dangerous look in his cold, gray eye. "Char-les, how dare you?" "Simmer down, ole man! Sha'ls, who's th' ol' bloat? Eh?" "Hush, man; here, take this!" With nervous hands, Charles Thompson filled a glass with liquor. "Drink it and go until to-morrow any time, but leave us! go now!"
Soon as de chillens, wuz seven y'ars ole, dey started dem ter 'nittin'. Marster Sam Pointer, husband of Missis Synthis, wus a good man en he wuz good ter us en he fed en clothed us good. We wore yarn hoods, sha'ls, en pantletts which wuz 'nit things dat kum fum yo shoe tops ter 'bove yo knees. De marster wuz also a 'ligious man en he let us go ter chuch.
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