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"Law, honey! ain't you done gone en fergot dat off'n yo' mine yit? Hit look like ter me," continued the old man, leisurely refilling his pipe, "dat she sorter run like dis: One time ole Brer Possum, he git so hungry, he did, dat he bleedzd fer ter have a mess er 'simmons.
The case was this: Abraham Simmons, a man whose name ought to go on the roll of martyrdom, was confined in the town of Little Compton, in a cell seven feet square, stone-built, stone-roofed, and stone-floored, the entrance double-walled, double-doored and double-locked, "excluding both light and fresh air, and without accommodation of any description for warming and ventilation."
If you really haven't leaked well, he" with a jerk of his head toward McCarthy "must bribe high, or have a strangle hold on you for fair." He looked around to see the boss' eye fixed intently on him, smiled pleasantly, and moved to one side. Simmons stepped forward, handed McCarthy a paper, and went out. The boss read the message slowly, and turned a little pale.
"I don't know what my dress will be, though." "I'll make a bow-arrow, and a gun, and a steamboat for Prudy." "And I'll give Susy my large doll, and make a blue dress for it, with flowing sleeves. She shall put all her things into my cabinet." "What'll we have to eat? Pecans, and 'simmons, and raisins, and figs." "O, we shall have plenty to eat, Horace, we always do.
Harry, however, still continued to refuse; and at last confessed to Miss Simmons, that he had expended all his money the day before, and therefore was unable to furnish the stake which the rest deposited. "Don't let that disturb you," said she; "I will put down for you with a great deal of pleasure."
"Humph! then I guess I'll take the beef. Needn't mind wrappin' it up. So long." He departed bearing his purchases. When Mr. Simmons, proprietor of the store, returned, Alpheus told him that he "cal'lated" Captain Cy Whittaker was preparing to "go into a decline, or somethin'."
After many trials, she at last engages a seamstress who promises to prove a perfect treasure, neat, dapper, nimble, skillful, and spirited. The very soul of Mrs. Simmons rejoices in heaven. Illusive bliss! The newcomer proves to be no favorite with Madam Cook, and the domestic fates evolve the catastrophe, as follows.
And because he was an incarnation he was, in his way, a tragedy. I will call him Simmons. He was a tall, healthy figure, strong, but a little slouching, and there was in his walk something between a slight swagger and a seaman's roll; he commonly had his hands in his pockets.
Dixie wa'n't out o' money when he come here, an' a spell afterwards there was more 'n a thousand dollars fell to him from his father's folks down South. Well, Fiddy made that fly, I tell you! Dixie bought a top buggy 'n' a sorrel hoss, 'n' they was on the road most o' the time when he wa'n't to work; 'n' when he was, she 'd go with Lem Simmons, 'n' Dixie none the wiser.
Emma Culbertson of the New England Hospital for Women and Children; Miss Emily Greene Balch, Associate Professor of Economics and Sociology at Wellesley; Miss Caroline J. Cooke, instructor in Commercial Law at Simmons, and Mrs. Park of Radcliffe. On August 13 suffragists from different parts of the State again made a pilgrimage to Lucy Stone's old home, West Brookfield, to celebrate her birthday.
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