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Not seeing her he proceeded to make inquiry of the servants; first appealing to Betsy. “I don’ know whar Miss T’rèse,” with a rising inflection on the “whar.” “I yain’t seed her sence mornin’, time she sont Unc’ Hi’um yonda to old Morico wid de light bread an’ truck,” replied the verbose Betsy. “Aunt B’lindy, you know whar Miss T’rèse?”
My Lan’! but dats a piece, dat Grégor,” Aunt Belindy enunciated between paroxysms of laughter, seating herself with her fat arms resting on her knees, and her whole bearing announcing pleased anticipation. “Dat boy neva did have no car’ fur de salvation o’ his soul,” groaned Uncle Hiram. “W’at he ben a doin’ yonda?” demanded Aunt Belindy impatiently.
Jack Wonnell, wearing one of the new bell-crowns, and barefooted, and looking like a vagrant who had tried on a militia grenadier's imposing bearskin hat, let off this irrelevant addendum: "Ole Milbun's gwyn to see a gal. Fust time a man changes his regler course wilently, it's a gal. I went into my bell-crowns to git a gal. Milbun's gwyn get a gal out yonda in forest.
“Warn’t trimblin’ no mo’ ’en I’se trimblin’ dis minute, an’ you drap dat ‘Mista.’ Den w’at you reckon? Yonda come Père Antoine; he come an’ stan’ in de doo’ an’ he hole up he han’; look like he ain’t ’feard no body an’ he ’low: ‘Grégor Sanchun, how is you dar’ come in dis heah peaceful town frowin’ of it into disorda an’ confusion? Ef you isn’t ’feard o’ man; hasn’t you got no fear o’ God A’mighty wat punishes?’
Some one had run ahead of her to where P'tit Maitre sat with his family and guests upon the gallery. "P'tit Maitre! La Folle done cross de bayou! Look her! Look her yonda totin' Cheri!" This startling intimation was the first which they had of the woman's approach. She was now near at hand. She walked with long strides.
None of the girls had ever been to her what Cheri was. They had each and all loved to be with her, and to listen to her wondrous stories of things that always happened "yonda, beyon' de bayou." But none of them had stroked her black hand quite as Cheri did, nor rested their heads against her knee so confidingly, nor fallen asleep in her arms as he used to do.
You can make them just as quick as you can think you can make hundreds and hundreds in a day.” “My Lan’! Dat’s w’at you’se studyin’ ’bout w’en you’se steppin’ ’roun’ heah like a droopy pullet? An’ I t’ought you was studyin’ ’bout dat beau you lef’ yonda to Sent Lous.” “You mustn’t say such things to me; I’m going to be a religious.” “How dat gwine henda you have a beau ef you’se religious?”
W’at I wants to know; whar dat Pierson boy, he don’t come. He ben gone time ’nough to walk to Natch’toches an’ back.” “Ain’t dat him I years yonda tu de crib?” suggestod Betsy, coming to join Aunt Belindy in the open doorway. “You heahs mos’ too much fu’ yo’ own good, you does, gal.” But Betsy was right.
If dey speck I’se gwine stan’ up heah on my two feet all night, dey’s foolin’ dey sef. I ain’t gwine do it. Git out dat doo’ you Mandy! you want me dash dis heah coffee pot at you blockin’ up de doo’s dat away? W’ar dat good fu’ nuttin Betsy? Look yonda, how she done flung dem dere knife an forks on de table. Jis let Miss T’rèse kotch’er. Good God A’mighty, Miss T’rèse mus’ done gone asleep.
“Oh; I ain’t ’fraid o’ any thing I can see an on’erstan’. I can han’le mos’ any thing thet’s got a body. But they do tell some mighty queer tales ’bout this lake an’ the pine hills yonda.” “Queer how?” “W’y, ole McFarlane’s buried up there on the hill; an’ they’s folks ’round yere says he walks about o’ nights; can’t res’ in his grave fur the niggas he’s killed.”
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