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Updated: June 19, 2025
I fell again into a faintness, from which I was awakened by being shoved through the folding-doors of a gin-shop, into a glare of light and hubbub of blackguardism, and placed on a settle, while my conductor called out "Pots round, Mary, and a go of brandy hot with, for the patient. Here, young'un, toss it off, it'll make your hair grow."
"Well I ain't takin' sides. Some young'un may have took it." "Well, let's go in, boys; I see the Elder's come. By gum, there's Harkey!" They all looked toward Harkey, who had just driven up to the door. Harkey came into church holding his smooth, serious face a little one side, in his usual way, quiet and dignified, as if he were living up to his Sunday suit of clothes.
"Drat the young'un!" exclaimed Mother Atterson. "I can see plainly I'd never ought to brought her, but should have sent her back to the institution. She'll be as wild as Mr. March's hare whoever he was out here in the country." But Old Lem Camp gave her no trouble. He effaced himself just as he had at the boarding house supper table.
"Come, young'un," growled a voice, strange to Jeremy, "you've slept the clock around! Cap'n wants you aft." The lad ached in all his bones as he rolled over toward the light. As he came to a sitting position on the edge of the bunk, he gave a start, for the face scowling down at him looked utterly fiendish to his sleepy eyes. Its ugliness fairly shocked him awake.
"Hallo, young'un, come to your senses? Headache, eh? Slightly comato-crapulose? We'll give you some soda and salvolatile, and I'll pay for your breakfast." And so he did, and when he was joined by his companions on their way to St.
"Fact is, Jerry," says he, "wife may as well hang up her fiddle about me; can't make a whistle out of a pig's tail, man, I tell ye! She may fuss up the young'un as much as she's a mind to, but it'll be labor lost over an old chap like me.
And the improvement in her appearance was something marvelous. "It certainly does astonish me, every time I think o' that youngun and the way she looked when she come to me from the charity school," declared Mother Atterson. "Who'd want a better lookin' young'un now? She'd be the pride of any mother's heart, she'd be.
But the weight of the cow-hide drives her to the auction block, where in mock solemnity she is represented as "an article of excellent breed, a good cook, a good seamstress, and withal a good Christian, a ra'al genewine lamb of the flock!" and then she is struck off to the highest bidder, who declares that he "won't have the young'un any how, 'cause he's gwine to drive her down to Lousianny."
I can tell from their very walk what sort of mothers they'll be. Mr. Holt had long been known as the most judicious breeder of stock in that neighbourhood. 'But it ain't only that, squoire. 'The young'un will do well too, I hope. 'In course he will. Why not? The foals take after their dams for a time, pretty much always.
Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after another stare, a curious, longing stare, jerked her shaggy head in response, and until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even finish the one she had begun. At that moment the baker-woman glanced out of her shop-window. "Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "If that young'un hasn't given her buns to a beggar-child!
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