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Miss Sally, it was this-a-way, simlike: that ole man writtend Mist' Madeira he wuz goin' to die an' he tol' Mist' Madeira to give the hills to Mist' Steerin'. But I don't reckon your father believed ole Grierson, Miss Sally." The girl on the bench under the crab-apple tree was beginning to draw herself up proudly. "There is some mistake somewhere, I can see that, Piney, dear.
Chloe brought the raisins over to Miss Madeira at last, and let them drop slowly into the crock, watching carefully for stray bits of stem. "Simlike nowadays ef he teef go agin a hardness spile he tas' fuh de cake," she said anxiously. "We do have to humour his poor appetite, don't we, Chloe? Never mind, he'll be better soon, I hope." "Whut madder wid he, Miss Sally, innyhow, Honey?"
He twisted his head like a bird and looked out across the extensive sweep of the land and the long slow curve of the river, a deep inspiration swelling his chest. "Simlike they up an' talk to you, the woods an' the hills an' the quiet, whend you know um," he said. All on the instant Steering knew that, as in the case of Old Bernique, here again was character.
"Simlike, ef a man onst finds the right woman they oughtn't never to be no more right women, hmh?" "There ought not to be, Piney, son." "Well, but they gen'ly is, hmh?" Bruce straightened out one foot with an impatient kick.
"I don' want Mist' Steerin' to look back an' see me here," the boy explained. In the growth where the hills began to roll down toward Choke Gulch, Piney stopped short, with a detaining hand upon Bernique's bridle. "I hearn," he said. His young face was so grey and solemn that Bernique regarded him questioningly. "I was simlike half asleep up there in the bushes.
Kim f'm S'loois. But still, I got that feelin' abaout Italy. Simlike I'd be oh, sorta at home tha'. Had that same feelin' ev' since Unc' Bernique begand to tell me abaout Italy. I'm a-goin' tha', tew, some day, all righty," he concluded at last, waking up from his little dream slowly. "Goin' to be long over to Poetical, Mist' Steerin'?" he diverged again, with his lively mental agility. "No, son.
Quin Beasley, that conclusive reasoner, who said, "Simlike ef you talk to Crit fer abaout th'ee bats of your eye he cand show you that ef innybody, don't keer who, would putt, wall say, wall, don't keer haow much you say, as much as tin thousand, in the Comp'ny an' leave it slumber fer say wall, don't keer haow long you say, as much as fo', five months, it 'ud be wuth, be wuth, wall, I don't keer to over-fetch, but I reckin f'm whut Crit says, th'aint no tellin' whut it would be wuth."
"Miss Honey, simlike de house gittin' mighty lonesome nowadays. Taint like it uster be." "Do you feel it, Chloe? Do you know I've grown to like it better quiet." The girl's voice was wistful, she let the batter trickle recklessly while she gazed off out of the window. Then she sighed and began to beat the batter very hard. "Miss Honey-love?" "Yes, Chloe."
I'd like to see Unc' Bernique aint seen him simlike fer a long time." Their horses were tethered in a little glade below them and they went into the glade as they talked. "We like Uncle Bernique, don't we, Piney?" suggested Steering, relishing Piney's reference to the old Frenchman.
"Just overwork, I think, Chloe. Works all the time; in the office now, bent double over his desk." The darky shuffled restlessly on her flat feet. "Simlike to me he pester'd. I d'n know. Miss Sally, who else gwine eat dishyer cake tumorreh, Honey?" "I'm not expecting any company at all, Chloe. Father isn't really well enough to care to talk to people."
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