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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Ye see," Birt presently continued, "I dunno when I kin git shet o' the tanyard this year. Old Jube Perkins 'lows ez he air mighty busy 'bout'n them hides an' sech, an' he wants me ter holp around ginerally. He say ef I do mo' work'n I owes him, he'll make that straight with my mother.
In fact, he experienced a pleased importance in giving Old Daddy a minute account of the wonderful apparition, for he felt as if he had seen it. "'Pears ter me toler'ble comical, gran'dad, ez they never tole ye a word 'bout'n it all," he said in conclusion. "Ye mought hev liked ter seen the harnt.
"Waal," he replied, in a drowsy tone, "I dunno 'bout'n that. I'm sorter banged out, 'kase I hev had a powerful hard day's work a-bilin' sorghum at our house. I b'lieves I'll rest my bones hyar, an' wait fur ye." As he spoke, he rolled up one of the coats which they had both thrown off, during their search for the nest on the summit of the cliff, and slipped it under his head.
Andy Byers hesitated. He mechanically passed his fingers once or twice across the blunt, curved blade of the two-handled knife. "Ye'll keep the secret?" "In the sole o' my boot," said the tanner. "Waal, I KNOWS ez Birt stole the grant. I hev been powerful changeful, though, in my thoughts bout'n it.
"De Lord, seein, he wuz spilte, he didn't 'low fur ter finish 'im, an' wuz des 'bout'n ter thow 'im 'way, wen de white man axt fur 'im; so de Lord he finished 'im up des like he wuz, wid his skin black an' his hyar kunkt up, an' he gun 'im ter de white man, an' I see he's got 'im plum tell yit." "Was it you, Daddy?" asked Dumps. "Wy , no, honey, hit wan't me, hit wuz my forecisters."
"I kem back hyar ter tell ye," the doughty deliverer began, with an air of great importance, and magnifying his office with an extreme relish, "that I can't go an' tell Pete 'bout'n the rope till I hev done kem back from the mill. I hev got old Sorrel hitched out hyar a piece, with a bag o' corn on his back, what I hev ter git ground at the mill.
"'Pears like to me ez the only reason Thad kin be so late a-gittin' back air jes' 'kase it air a toler'ble aggervatin' job a-fotchin' of dad home," she said, striving to reassure herself. "That air a true word 'bout'n dad, ennyhow," Ben assented bitterly. His old grandfather suddenly lifted up his voice.
"Now there's jes one mo' tale," said Diddie, "and that's about 'Annie's Visit, an I'm tired of makin' up books; Chris, can't you make up that?" "I dunno hit," said Chris, "but I kin tell yer 'bout'n de tar baby, el dat'll do." "Don't you think that'll do jes as well, Dumps?" asked Diddie. 'Certingly!" replied Dumps. So Diddie drew her pencil through "Annie's Visit," and wrote in its place,
"Look at the face of the deceased," he said, with a sort of spare enunciation, coercive somehow in its inexpressiveness. "Ye are sure ye never viewed that man afore yestiddy?" "I hev said so an' swore it," said Hite, a trifle nettled. "Ye rode in comp'ny a hour or mo' an' never asked his name?" "I never axed him no questions, nor he me," replied Hite, "'ceptin' 'bout'n the witch-face.
I nuber seed 'im but I hyeard he wuz dar, do, an' I knows he wuz dar, caze I sho'ly hyeard 'em clappin' uv dey han's; an', 'cordin' ter de way I 'members bout'n it, dis is his birfday, wat de folks keeps plum till yet caze dey ain't no men nowerdays like Marse Fofer July. He wuz er gre't man, an' he had sense, too; an' den, 'sides dat, he wuz some er de fus' famblys in dem days.
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