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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Why, our moonbeams are lovely little fairies, with wings like dragon-flies, and shiny, silv'ry gowns; and whenever they get tired of flying about they settle down and glow like fireflies. They b'long to the moon lady and are nice fairies. They make sugar stars and moon-ice for us to eat." Peace clapped her hand abruptly over her mouth. Suppose Annette should ask for something to eat!
"She b'longs to Uncle Larry, an' I wanted Her to b'long to me. Nobody else does I wouldn't have needed anybody else to, if She had. All I needed to b'long was Her. I wanted Her! I I love Her. She isn't Uncle Larry's she's mine! She's mine!" The thoughts of the Little Lover surged on turbulently, while the beautiful low song went on. She was singing She was singing to Uncle Larry.
As they went along, the man questioned the youth and assisted him with the replies like one manipulating the mind of a child. Sometimes he interjected anecdotes. "What reg'ment do yeh b'long teh? Eh? What's that? Th' 304th N' York? Why, what corps is that in? Oh, it is? Why, I thought they wasn't engaged t'-day they 're 'way over in th' center. Oh, they was, eh?
"Ve has de honair to b'long to Le Guillaume Tell," replied one of the men. "Hallo, Bill!" whispered Ben, "it's a French boat, an' we're nabbed. Prisoners o' war, as sure as my name's BB! Wot's to be done?" "I'll make a bolt, sink or swim," whispered our hero. "You vill sit still," said the man who had already spoken to them, laying a hand on Bill's shoulder.
"'Marster, I l'arns dat it's a sin fer ter steal, er ter lie, er fer ter want w'at doan b'long ter yer; en I l'arns fer ter love de Lawd en ter 'bey my marster. "Mars Dugal' sorter smile' en laf ter hisse'f, like he 'uz might'ly tickle' 'bout sump'n, en sezee: "'Doan 'pear ter me lack readin' de Bible done yer much harm, Dave. Dat 's w'at I wants all my niggers fer ter know.
Hey, hey? Ugglees-tone. Ma foi, you Monsieur Jonas Ugglees-tone?" "No, sir; I am his son," said Bigley. "What say, sare, you Monsieur Jonas Ugglees-tone, you b'long?" "Yes, sir; I belong to him. Will you give us something to eat?" "Aha! You Engleesh boys, big garcon, always hungries. Vais; come aboard my sheeps. Not like your papa oh, no. I know him mosh, very mosh.
What rights you got to go bein' captain o' my army, I'd like to know! Who got up this army, in the first place, I'd like to know! I did, myself yesterd'y afternoon, and you get back in line or I won't let you b'long to it at all!" The pretender succumbed; he instantly dismounted, being out-shouted and overawed. On foot he took his place in the ranks, while Ramsey became sternly vociferous.
The detail, passing along the creek on the other bank from them, scattered, and with Bob next the creek. Bob shook his gun aloft. "I can wuk her now!" Another lull came, and from the thicket arose the cry of a thin, high, foreign voice: "Americano Americano!" "Whut regiment you b'long to?" the voice was a negro's and was Bob's, and Grafton and Crittenden listened keenly.
Ef he had come f'om roun' yere I 'd be skeered ter keep 'im, fer de w'ite folks 'u'd prob'ly be lookin' fer 'im. But I knows ev'ybody w'at's be'n conscripted fer ten miles 'roun', an' dis yere boy don' b'long in dis neighborhood. W'en 'e gits so 'e kin he'p 'isse'f we 'll put 'im up in de lof an' hide 'im till de Yankees come.
No; some er de niggers foun' her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben', en dey hid her in a crick 'mongst de willows, en dey wuz so much jawin' 'bout which un 'um she b'long to de mos' dat I come to heah 'bout it pooty soon, so I ups en settles de trouble by tellin' 'um she don't b'long to none uv um, but to you en me; en I ast 'm if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman's propaty, en git a hid'n for it?
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