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Updated: June 3, 2025
"A-burnin' and a-burnin', and a-making o' volk madder and madder; but tek thou my word vor't, Joan, and I bean't wrong not twice i' ten year, the burnin' o' the owld archbishop 'ill burn the Pwoap out o' this 'ere land for iver and iver."
So he pa gwine whop him fo' tellin' a fib 'bout dey ain' no ghosts whin yiver'body know' dey is ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she tek' note de hair ob li'l' black Mose's head am plumb white, an' she tek' note li'l' black Mose's face am de color ob wood-ash, so she jes retch' one arm round dat li'l' black boy, an' she jes snuggle' him up, an' she say': "Honey lamb, don't you be skeered; ain' nobody gwine hurt you.
Bubbles cried harder than ever at this. "What shall I do with her, Florence?" "Take her doll away," suggested she. "No! no! no! please, Miss Dimple, I'll never do so no mo'," cried Bubbles, "'deed an' 'deed, I won't. Don't take my doll away. Yuh can whup me, or anything, but don't tek my doll away," and she hugged it tightly, rocking herself to and fro.
So whin Hallowe'en come' erlong, dat li'l' black Mose he jes mek' up he mind he ain't gwine outen he shack at all. He cogitate he gwine stay right snug in de shack wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de rain-doves tek notice dat de ghosts are philanderin' roun' de country, 'ca'se dey mourn out, "Oo-oo-o-o-o!" an' de owls dey mourn out, "Whut-whoo-o-o-o!" an' de wind mourn out, "You-you-o-o-o!"
Draw up to the fire, suh an', heah, tek this cheer; it's comf'tabler then that'n'," she said hospitably, ejecting a big tortoise-shell cat from the depths of a cushioned rocker which she pulled forward. "My name is Dudley, madam; Abner Dudley," said the guest as he exchanged the straight, split-bottom chair for the rocker.
"Nay, who kills hares at the end of March, lad? Hares is mad in March." "Is that why it let you catch it, Dave?" "Mebbe, lad, mebbe, Mester Dick. Theer, hev you done stroking her?" "No. Why?" "Going to let her run?" "Wait a bit," cried Dick. "Tek her by the ears, lad, and putt thy hand beneath her. That's the ways."
"Now, Cissy," she said, coming to the girl's room one night and finding her sobbing over disappointed hopes, "don't you s'pose yer own mammy'll do whut's best fur her dautah? You mustn't think 'cause I'm sharp an' stirrin' with you thet I don't love you." She seated herself on the side of the bed and began to stroke Susan's hair. "'Tain't no use fur you to tek on so.
And will you not tek the pony, your leddyship? for it is a long road to the quay." "No, I will not take the pony, Hamish," said the tall, white-haired dame, "and it is not of much consequence what boat Sir Keith has, so long as he comes back to us. And now I think you had better go down to the quay yourself, and see that the cart is waiting and the boat ready."
What else could three quarters mean? "How long will it take you?" he asked. She deliberated. "Samson's hoein' corn in the fur-hill field. He'll hev ter cotch his mule. Hit mout tek a half-hour." Lescott had been riding the tortuous labyrinths that twisted through creek bottoms and over ridges for several days.
"You tek ze air, Monsieur Reetchie?" said he. "You look for some one, yes? You git up too late see him off." I made a swift resolve never to quibble with this man. "So Mr. Temple has gone to New Orleans with the Sieur de St. Gre," I said. Citizen Gignoux laid a fat finger on one side of his great nose. The nose was red and shiny, I remember, and glistened in the sunlight.
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