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Updated: June 16, 2025
Wackernagel began to brag, while he industriously ate of his fried sausage and fried potatoes, "from as fur away as Illinois yet! And from as fur south as down in Maine! Yes, indeed! Ain't, mom?" he demanded of his wife. "Och, yes, many's the strange meals I cooked a'ready in this house. One week I cooked forty strange meals; say not, Abe?" she returned. "Yes, I mind of that week. It was Mrs.
"And do you really think that?" he said, in a voice subdued and anxious. "Indeed I do," said Mrs. Murray, in a tone of certain conviction. Macdonald sank back on his pillow, and after a moment's silence, said, in a voice of pain: "Oh, but it is a peety she did not know! It is a peety she did not know. For many's the time before before her hour came on her, she would be afraid."
"Just that," said he, "this long while seven years maybe. I was at the herdin' before that with my father it is a homely thing to be hearing the crying o' the sheep in the hills. Many's the time I would be thinking on that when the fog would be round us, and naething to be listening for but the creaking o' a block in the rigging.
"When my little girl," continued the speaker, "took hole ob my dress an' begged me ter let her go wid me, an' I couldn't do it, it mos' broke my heart. I had a little boy, an' wen my mistus sole me she kep' him. She carried on a boardin' house. Many's the time I hab stole out at night an' seen dat chile an' sleep'd wid him in my arms tell mos' day.
He could act love, but could not feel it, could mimic passion without realising it. In many's looks the false heart's history Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange, but with Willie Hughes it was not so. 'Heaven, says Shakespeare, in a sonnet of mad idolatry
Why, many's the time I've driven fifteen miles to hear him. I used to like to go into Danville just for that reason. He used to be around there, and sometimes he'd talk a little. He could stir a fellow up." "Oratory alone won't make a statesman," I ventured, more to draw him out than to object. "Oh, I know," he answered, "but White was a good man. The plainest-spoken fellow I ever heard.
Many's the time I have went down the street in that there Injun suit, and seen how the young fellers would of give all they owned to be me. And every now and then you would hear one say when you went past: "Huh, I know him! That's one of them show fellers!" One afternoon we pitches our tent right on the edge of a little town called Athens.
And they recommenced their howling, yelling chorus of "Misericordia! Audi nos peccadores!" and "Santissima Virgen, and Todos santos y angeles!" "Are the fellows mad?" shouted Rowley, "What if the water does come? It won't swallow you. A ducking more or less is no such great matter. You are not made of sugar or salt. Many's the drenching I've had in the States, and none the worse for it.
I was then living on Third street near Mission and got my supply of water from a man named Somers who conveyed water about the city to his various customers in a cart. I took water from him for about three years at the rate of $1.50 per week. Many's the time I have gone out to the Mission hunting rabbits. All that part of the city was as wild as it ever was, sand dunes and low grounds.
"Who'll bury me now?" she screamed with a long wail which silenced the whole group; "who'll lay me in the grave, Micky bein' gone from me that always gave me the kind word and the pinny or trippence ivery market day, and the wife of him Biddy Flaherty the rose of Glengariff; many's the fine meal she's put before old Peggy Muldoon that is old and blind."
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