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"My gal-baby keeps up sich a hollerin' I can't hear my own years." "Oh!" "You better b'lieve! Nine hours ole, an' mighty peart. What's them Restercrats in the valley cuttin' up the'r scollops fer?" "Whoopin' up sesaysion. Sou' Ca'liny done plum gone out, an' Georgy a-gwine." Teague Poteet blew a long, thin cloud of home-made tobacco-smoke heavenward, leaned back heavily in his chair, and replied
Puss, she thes sets thar a-chawin' away at 'er snuff, an' a-knittin' away at 'er socks tell she thinks I'm a-pushin' Sis too clost, an' then she blazes out an' blows me up. Airter that," Teague continued, "things gits more homelike. Ef 'twan't fer me an' Sis, I reckon Puss 'nd teetotally fret 'erself away." "St.
"I bet a hoss," said Teague dryly, "that Sis wa'n't fur from thar when that bussin' wuz a-gwine on." "Who should it be but Sis!" exclaimed the old woman, leaning forward eagerly as she spoke. "Who else but Sis wuz a-gwine to grab me an' gimme a buss right here on the jaw, a-frontin' of all them jewlarkers?
Sligo, the last western garrison, succumbed, and the brave Sir Teague O'Regan marched his 600 men, survivors, southward to Limerick. Thus once more all eyes and all hearts in the British Islands were turned towards the well-known city of the lower Shannon. There, on the 14th of August, Tyrconnell expired, stricken down by apoplexy.
Didn't you say you wanted to see me on business?" "I did start out wi' that idee," said Teague, slipping into a chair and smiling curiously, "but I disremember mostly what 'twuz about. Ever'thing is been a-pesterin' me lately, an' a man that's hard-headed an' long-legged picks up all sorts er foolish notions.
Woodward tried in vain to give an air of banter to his words. Teague leaned forward with his hands upon his knees. "Do you mean, would Sis marry you?" he asked. "That is just exactly what I mean," Woodward replied. The old mountaineer rose and stretched himself, and drew a deep sigh of relief. His horrible suspicion had no foundation.
When Hog Mountain heard the news, which it did by special messenger, sent from house to house with little pink missives written by Sis, it was as proud as Teague himself. Fat Mrs. Hightower laid aside her spectacles when the invitation was translated to her, and remarked "They hain't nobody on the face er the yeth good enough fer Sis, but that air feller's got the looks an' the spunk.
Suddenly it occurred to her that her father, divining her secret her sweet, her bitter, her well-guarded secret had sought Woodward out and begged him to return. The thought filled her with such shame and indignation as only a woman can experience. She seized Teague by the arm "Pap, have you been to Atlanta?" "Yes, honey, an' I made 'as'e to come back." "Oh, how could you?
He endeavoured to discuss the matter with his wife, but Puss Poteet was not the woman to commit herself. She was a Mountain Sphinx. "I'm afeard Sis is ailin'," said Teague, upon one occasion. "Well," replied Puss, "she ain't complainin'." "That's hit," Teague persisted; "she hain't complainin'. That's what pesters me.
Late in the evening, about sunset, I took my rifle and slipped off into the woods back of camp. I walked a short distance, then paused to listen to the silence of the forest. There was not a sound. It was a place of peace. By and bye I heard snapping of twigs, and presently heard R.C. and Teague approaching me. We penetrated half a mile into the spruce, pausing now and then to listen.
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