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"She po'ly, Marse Dave, an' she ain' nebber leabe dis year house. Marse Dave," said Lindy earnestly, lowering her voice and taking a step closer to me, "I done reckon de Mistis gwine ter die ob lonesomeness. She des sit dar an' brood, an' brood an' she use' ter de bes' company, to de quality. No, sirree, Marse Dave, she ain' nebber sesso, but she tink 'bout de young Marsa night an' day.
You never in all your life heerd of anybody puttin' a litter of pups in a bag an' throwin' 'em in the river, did ye? No, sirree! Dogs is like men. They grow up to be useful citizens, mud er no mud. Why, if I had a dog what sat down on the doorstep an' licked his paws ever' time he got mud on 'em I'd take him out an' shoot him, 'cause I'd know he wasn't no kind of a dog at all.
"I will do so " said I. "And you can also tell her," she continued, "that Liosha Prescott is not going to let herself be made a fool of by a man who's crazy mad over another woman. No, sirree! Not this child. Not me. And as for the proprieties" she snapped her fingers "they be they be anything'd!" To this frank exposition of her feelings I could say nothing.
George and all the rest, I should think I was in Cap'n Cyrus Whittaker's settin-room back home. The furniture looks like Cap'n Cy's and the pictures look like those he has, and and everything looks as stiff and starched and old-fashioned as can be. But the Cap'n never had a Henry. No, sirree, Henry don't belong on Cape Cod!
Then another an American this time took up the tale, shouting, "Go 'way, little man, go 'way! Wha' d'you mean, anyway, by comin' here and disturbin' gen'lemen when they're busy? Come in and have a drink with us, youngster, just to show that you're not stuck up. I guess we're all equals in this dandy little barkie; yes, sirree!
Well, one day he was out with a party of them same coons, and they began to run the old rig on him as usual. And he jumps up on eend, and in a joking kind o' way, said: 'Gentlemen, can any of you stitch a button-hole, with the button in it? Well, they all roared out at that like mad. "'No, Sirree, sais they, 'but come, show us Thimble, will you? that's a good fellow.
"Where's Cousin Belle?" asked Frank. "I s'peck she's putting on her fine clothes for the General to see. Didn't she run when she heard he was here!" "Willy!" said his mother, reprovingly. "Well, she did, Ma." His mother shook her head at him; but the General put his hand on the boy, and drew him closer. "You say she ran?" he asked, with a pleasant light in his eyes. "Yes, sirree; she did that."
"Well, now," he would say, "you take this year's wheat crop with about 917,000,000 bushels of wheat harvested, why, that's what's going to win the war! Yes, sirree! No wheat, no winning, that's what I say." "Ya-as, it is!" the city men would scoff. But the queer part of it is that Farmer Ben was right. Minnie got into the habit of using him as a sort of nursemaid.
After a while they sobered down, and then finding that the boys hadn't a handkerchief between them, Miss Laura took her own soft one, and dipping it in a spring of fresh water near by, wiped the red eyes of the sneezers. Their ill humor had gone, and when she turned to leave them, and said, coaxingly, "You won't make those dogs fight any more, will you?" they said, "No, sirree, Bob."
No, sirree, David: you'd be a wreck a mental, physical wreck, because you'd know that your uncle knowed that you killed his father. I tell you it makes a terrible difference when you know that some one else knows. Your uncle Frank understands now that two men know me and Perry. He knows I'm hangin' around somewhere in this world, ready to spring on him.
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