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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Sir, I reckon you be the boss of the new factory. I was a-going down to The Forge to seek you out and ask for work, but Tansey Moore, down to the store, 'lowed that 'twas you who had passed up this-er-way. If you be the boss could you " But he got no further. Sandy could not run the risk of another clash of words. "Father!" he said, standing up and stretching his arms out pitifully to Martin.
Always I have dreamed of you standing as you stand now under the dogwoods, to welcome me, but now that I have come up The Way I find myself a stranger!" Cynthia was clutching the bough of a tree for support; her eyes were strained and pathetic. "I I do not know what I have expected," she whispered, her eyes clinging to his; "but it is this-er-way.
"I reckon I can tell you how it turned out," he said, while his poor old chin quivered as if the effort was almost more than he could endure. "It war this-er-way. He came home to The Hollow, Sandy's grandfather, an' he brought the bottle of water! Oh! my God and them as opened the bottle found out and began to whisper!
I uster set and watch her and say this-er-way: 'plenty o' them! I'm going to get one! meaning to make her jealous long o' gals, but she never took no heed but Landy! she died forsaken and lone, and times is when I think she would have been a mighty sight better off if she had took me!"
The letter that had, after many weeks, drifted to him, had been read to him by The Forge doctor who happened to be riding by when Martin tremblingly pleaded with him for help. "It's this-er-way," Morley had explained, striving to hide the depths of his illiteracy; "my eyes don' gone back on me.
Cynthia had been a month in Crothers' factory, when one late afternoon he said to her: "Little miss, could you bide at The Forge tonight?" Cynthia started back and looked at him. "It's this-er-way; you've become mighty helpful to me and I've got a batch of letters to get off by the morning's mail.
Tansey Moore had never taken the little doctor up socially. "It's this-er-way. We-all can't act out what's in us-all. You know, Rose-Lily" Mrs. Moore had one of the funeral-design names which so often decorated the plainest of her sex among the hills "we-all just get caught in the wheels and go round like what we-all have to.
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