Entering the kitchen she said to Aunt Cynthia: "'Pears ter me yo' must have powerful lot o' time on han', Sis' Cynthy." "Well'm I AIN'T. No ma'am, not me," was Cynthia's prompt reply, for to tell the truth she was beginning to weary of doling out religious consolation and bodily sustenance, yet hospitality demanded something.
"That bright red stone in the buckle; how can you consider THAT MOURNING? And your veil shouldn't stick I mean it ought to hang down properly." Minervy looked deeply perturbed. Shifting from one patent-leather-shod foot to the other, she answered: "Well'm, well'm, I dare say you's had more spurrience in dese hyer t'ings 'n I is, but dat ston certain'y did strike ma heart.
"Well'm; I suppose there's a good deal of dyin' this time of year?" "Have you a despatch for me?" Mrs. Richie said curtly. "No'm;" said Mrs. Minns. "Did Dr. King send a telegram for me this morning?" she asked in a sudden panic of alarm. "Yes'm," the postmistress said, "he sent it." Mrs. Richie turned away, and began to walk about the office; up and down, up and down.
He stood before me, bowing, with his hat in his hand: "Well'm, Miss Faith honey, I reckon de time's about ripe foh de goats. Dat boy's investigated every nook an' cornder ob de place, an' ef you tink bes' I'll go after de goats dis afternoon." "Very well, Amos," I said. "We are all going to Philadelphia to-day to attend the launching of Mr. Beguelin's yacht, and we are going to take Billy.
"Is it your own trouble, Piney?" she asked, helping again. "No'm." "Whose trouble, Piney?" "Mist' Steerin's, Miss Sally." "Ah!" She leaned nearer Piney. "Tell me quickly, dearie," she said, "is he ill?" "Well'm, it's your trouble, too, Miss Sally." "Yes, surely, Piney, go on, go on!" "And your father's trouble, Miss Sally." "Something about the Tigmores, I suspect, then, Piney, go on."