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Updated: May 3, 2025
In one of these chairs he would sit for the remainder of the day, making an occasional loud remark about the weather or the crops, and watching the horses pass in and out of the stable. Siner had vaguely enjoyed old Mr. Tomwit's discomfiture over the deed, if it was discomfiture that had moved the old gentleman to his sententious profanity.
He looked down and saw his mother, Caroline Siner, looking up into his face and weeping with the general emotion of the negroes and this joy of her own. Caroline had changed since Peter last saw her. Her eyes were a little more wrinkled, her kinky hair was thinner and very gray. Something warm and melting moved in Peter Siner's breast.
It is the ways and means committee to the great legislature of the body. For several days after his fear that Peter Siner would marry Cissie Dildine old Captain Renfrew was as felicitous as a lover newly reconciled to his mistress. He ambled between the manor and the livery- stable with an abiding sense of well-being.
However, from every cabin came sound of laughing and romping, and now and then a youngster darted through the cold from one hut to another. It seemed to Peter Siner only a little while since he and Ida May were skittering through wintry weather from one fire to another, with Cissie, a wailing, wet-nosed little spoil-sport, trailing after them.
Siner was greatly surprised, and his heart warmed at the sight of his old playmate. "What have you been doing to yourself, Tump?" he cried, laughing, and shaking the big hand in sudden warmth. "You used to be the size of a dime in a jewelry store." "Been in 'e army, nigger, wha I's been fed," said the grinning brown man, delightedly. "I sho is picked up, ain't I?"
This was only one unit of a complex. The odor was also connected with negro protracted meetings in Hooker's Bend, and the Harvard man remembered a lanky black preacher waving long arms and wailing of hell-fire, to the chanted groans of his dark congregation; and he, Peter Siner, had groaned with the others.
"Yes, I have, son; I've completely lost my way." The child twisted his head around and peered up alongside Peter's arm. Presently he asked: "Ain't you Mr. Peter Siner?" "Yes." "Ain't you de man whut's gwine to ma'y Miss Cissie Dildine?" Peter looked down at his small companion with a certain concern that his marriage was already gossip known to babes. "I'm Peter Siner," he repeated.
Peter called to the roustabout and asked about Tump Pack. The Persimmon looked at Peter with his half-asleep, protruding eyeballs. "Don' you know 'bout Tump Pack already, Mister Siner?" "No." Peter was astonished at the formality of the "Mr. Siner." "Then is you 'spectin' somp'n 'bout him?" "Why, no, but I was asleep in there a moment ago, and somebody came along talking about Tump and Cissie.
Two or three days before Peter had tried to borrow the initial hundred from the bank, but the cashier, Henry Hooker, after going into the transaction, had declined the loan, and therefore Siner had been forced to await a meeting of the Sons and Daughters of Benevolence. At this meeting the subscription had gone through promptly.
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