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Updated: May 23, 2025
"An' you jes' 'ceived me all the time," he cried, "an' me a-lovin' you better 'n anybody I ever see sence I's born? An' you a Sunday-School teacher? I ain't never a-goin' to trus' nobody no mo'. Good-bye, Miss Cecilia."
"Time you knowed dat Miss Lou trus' me en I ain' doin' not'n ter loss dat trus'. She know bettah'n you dat ef dars eny ting ter be done I de one ter he'p." "We can trust Zany," whispered Miss Lou, who had become very pale. "You have some news about Lieutenant Scoville?" "Well, on'y dis, honey, Chunk lookin' fer 'im.
"Now I tell yer what 'tis, mas'r, I'se made up my mine to put out ob heah. I'se gwine ter jine de Linkum men fust chance I gits. An' if yer'll wait an' trus' me, I'll take yer slick and clean; fer I know dis yer country and ebery hole whar ter hide well as a fox. If I gits safe ter de Linkum folks, yer'll say a good word fer Iss, I reckon." "Indeed, I will.
"Aunt Martha knew nothing about Ham's precipitate retreat during the last battle, so she continued by saying: "'Jes' see, Massa Tom, de Gen'l dar. Whar he bin if he lef wid de mans when he got shotted at dat fight at Dolins-burg? He done bin dead sho. Dars whar he bin. I tell you de good Laud know who he trus' him wid; yes sah, he do.
"I'se berry glad to see you lookin' so bright dis here mornin'." "Thank you. Now make yourself at home and take good care of your young mistress." "Dat I will, missy; best I knows how. Trus' dis chile for dat."
Ramon twisted the points of his black mustache and regarded her askance, smiling crookedly. "Yoh 'fraid for trus' me, that's why I promise," he said at last. "Me, I don' need padre to mumble-mumble foolish words before I can be happy. Yoh 'fraid of Luck Leen'sey, that's why I promise. Now yoh come way up here, so luck don' matter no more. Yoh be happy weeth me."
He smile an' say, 'Tell de young lady dat I drink to her health an' happier times. Den I gits up my co'age an' says, 'Cap'n Lane, I wants ter see yer when my work's done in de house. He say, 'All right, come ter me here. Den he look at me sharp an' say, 'Can I trus' yer? An' I say, 'Yes, Mass'r Cap'n; I'se Linkum, troo an' troo. Den he whisper in my ear de password, 'White-rose."
Lemme bridge 'em over first 'th somethin' soft. That'll do. She patched that quilt herself. Hold on a minute, 'tel I git the aidges of it under my ol' boots, to keep it f'om saggin' down in the middle. There, now! Merciful goodness, but I never! I'd rather trus' myself with a whole playin' fountain in blowed glass'n sech ez this.
"Well, de Lord knows I'm 'feerd to go," said Martha; "but ef I sot up for preachin', 'peers to me I wouldn' be'feerd to sass witches nor goses, nor nuffin' else." "I don't preach no time but Sundays, an' dis ain't Sunday," said Uncle Humphrey. "Hy, nigger!" exclaimed Martha in desperation, "is you gwine to go back on de Lord cos 'tain't Sunday? How come you don't trus' on Him week-a-days?"
I pick' 'im up in my arms wid de fleg still in he han's, an' toted 'im back jes' like I did dat day when he wuz a baby, an' ole marster gin 'im to me in my arms, an' sez he could trus' me, an' tell me to tek keer on 'im long ez he lived. I kyar'd 'im 'way off de battlefiel' out de way o' de balls, an' I laid 'im down onder a big tree tell I could git somebody to ketch de sorrel for me.
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