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Updated: May 7, 2025
But I chased 'em fo'th, an' dey found' de sto' keeper an' fetch' de terbacker dey sho' did. I soaked it in de skillet, an' stripped it 'long by degrees, till I got ter de en', w'en I boun' it under my foot an' roun' my ankle. Den I kneel' down an' prayed, an' next mawnin de swellin' wuz all gone! Dat voice wus de Spirit er de Lawd talkin' ter me, it sho' wuz!
Why when I furst don' see dem Beaucaire gals dey wus just infants. Dey'll sure believe ol' Pete." "Well, we can only try our best. Have you any conveyance here?" "Any whut, sah?" "Any wheeled vehicle in which we can ride to Beaucaire, and by means of which we can bring the women back? The distance is too far to walk." "I'se got a sorter khart, an' an ol' muel, sah. Dey's out yonder in de bush."
I often lie awake at night thinkin' about you, an' wonderin' ef yore ma wouldn't blame me ef she wus alive fer not lookin' atter you more. I've heerd what a solitary life you've been livin' sence she died. God knows she wus a big loss, an' it does bring a great change to part with sech a friend, but, from what I heer, you let 'er death bother you most too much.
But he continued dreamily, "There would have to be considerable wire-pullin'." "Where would the wires be?" says I sternly. "And who would pull 'em?" "Oh, most anywhere!" says he, lookin' dreamily up onto the kitchen ceilin', as if wires wus liable to be let down anywhere through the plasterin'. Says I, "Should you have to go to pullin' wires?" "Of course I should," says he.
Hated sharin' a pannikin o' tea wi' a friend; guess I see her scrape out a fry-pan oncet. I 'lows she had cranks. Guess she hadn't a pile o' brain, neither. She never could locate a hog from a sow, an' as fer stridin' a hoss, hell itself couldn't 'a' per-suaded her. She'd a notion fer settin' sideways, an' allus got muleish when you guessed she wus wrong.
Beaucaire he naturally fell dead heart, er som'thin' an' the other feller, this yere army man, he went out on deck fer ter see Kirby, an' he never cum' back. McAdoo sorter reckoned as how likely he wus slugged, an' throwed overboard. An' then, on top' all that, we're sent up yere in the night like a passel o' thieves ter take these niggers down ter Saint Louee. What do yer make ov it, Jake?"
"I know it's mighty haud on yer, gittin' cowhided ev'ry night, but stealin' ain't goin' ter he'p it, Lizay." "I never stole yer cotton, Als'on," Little Lizay said with a certain dignity, but with an unsteady voice. "I see'd yer do it," Edny Ann interrupted. "I emptied my sack in yer baskit when I didn't go ter do it," Little Lizay continued. "It wus my own cotton I wus takin' out yer baskit."
No! he was a cussed Britisher; and what is wus, a British author; and yet, because he was a man of genius, because genius has the 'tarnal globe for its theme, and the world for its home, and mankind for its readers, and bean't a citizen of this state or that state, but a native of the univarse, why we welcomed him, and feasted him, and leveed him, and escorted him, and cheered him, and honoured him, did he honour us?
Well, it happened thet the fu'st feller he run up against wus LeVere, who wus cumin' forrard fer sumthin', an' fer about a minute thar was one hell ov a fight.
"Well, after a while, sah, thar wan't no mor' noise, an' I reckoned I'd either done hit yer er else ye'd run away. An' thar ye wus, sah, a lyin' on yer back like ye wus ded. Just so soon as I saw ye, I know'd as how ye never wus no nigger-hunter, but a stranger in des yere parts. So I dragged ye inside de cabin, an' washed up yer hurts.
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