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Her father must be very wealthy. Her rings and pins are simply lovely. Isn't that a diamond she wears?" "Yes; but it's Min's. Landis has been wearing it for the last two years. Min is an only child. She has no mother and her father, who is a millionaire oil-man, allows her to spend what she pleases." "Is Landis' father an oil-man?" "No, he isn't," was the reply.
And she answered, "Ay, I like it weel, daddie; but it min's me some upo' the winter." And Andrew looked anxiously at the pale face of his child, who, at six years old, in the month of June, had no business to know that there was any winter. But she was the child of elderly parents, and had not been born in time; so that she was now in reality about twenty.
The thunder mutters growls rolls peals forth in grand ear-breaking crashes, that appear to shake the dense sky overhead; but still, whenever the electric coruscations light up the sable darkness, I can see Min's face, apparently ever before me, ever inviting me on, ever inapproachable! Anon, the boat glides back into the ocean again.
He was "Dicky Chips:" the funniest, quaintest, most intelligent, and most amusing little bullfinch you ever clapped eyes on. I resolved that Dicky Chips should be Min's property from henceforth.
'It min's me o' the women gauin til the sepulchre! said David. 'Eh, but it maun hae been a sair time til them! a heap sairer nor this hert-brak here! 'Ye see they didna ken 'at he wasna deid, assented Kirsty, 'and we div ken 'at Steenie's no deid! He's maybe walkin aboot wi the bonny man or maybe jist ristin himsel a wee efter the uprisin!
"Wal, Bre'er 'Liab, dey sed a heap, but de upshot on't all was dat de white folks hed jes made up dar min's ter run dis kentry, spite ob ebbery ting. Dey sed dat dey wuz all fixed up in ebbery county from ole Virginny clean ter Texas, an' dey wuz gwine ter teach de niggers dere place agin, ef dey hed ter kill a few in each county an' hang 'em up fer scarecrows jes dat 'ere way.
At length a bright idea struck her and turning to Cynthia she announced: "Why, Sis' Cynthia, I believes yo' tryin' ter projec' wid me; dat clock don' STRIKE 'TALL. But I 'clar I mus' be a-humpin' masef todes dera chillern. I shore mus'." "Yes, I'd 'vise it pintedly," asserted Cynthia, while Mammy Lucy added: "It's sprisin' how some folks juties slips dey min's."
"'We laks Hannibal de bes', en we gwine ter keep him. Heah, Hannibal, you'll wuk at de house fum now on. En ef you're a good nigger en min's yo' bizness, I'll gib you Chloe fer a wife nex' spring. You other nigger, you Jeff, you kin go back ter de qua'ters. We ain' gwine ter need you.
"What's the matter, Uncle Julius?" inquired my wife, who is of a very sympathetic turn of mind. "Does the noise affect your nerves?" "No, Miss Annie," replied the old man, with emotion, "I ain' narvous; but dat saw, a-cuttin' en grindin' thoo dat stick er timber, en moanin', en groanin', en sweekin', kyars my 'memb'ance back ter ole times, en 'min's me er po' Sandy."
I often wasted hours, in dreamily composing intricate monograms on my blotting-paper, in which Min's name was twisted into all sorts of flowery characters, which were intermingled so as to be nearly incomprehensible to any one unacquainted with my secret. My fellow-clerks got an inkling of it, however.
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