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Various

"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 74, December, 1863"

If
'twas a man had sech a bamboozlin' phiz as hers, I'd bat him over th'
head, that 's all."
"She's a widow, and thee's afraid of thy weak point," said Jane.
"Take yer joke, Jane." The lad looked down on the woman's bony face
kindly. "They don't hurt, yer words. It's different when some folks
pokes fun at me, askin' for the lantern, an'"--
"What odds?" said the woman hurriedly, a quick change coming over her
face. "They mean well. Haven't I told thee since the night thee comed
here first for a meal's victuals, an' all the years since, how as all
the world meaned well to thee, Andrew? Not only sun an' air an' growth,
an' God behind; but folks, ef thee takes them by the palm of the hand
first, an' not raps them with the knuckles, or go about seekin' to make
summat off of each."
Andy was in no mood for moralizing.
"Ye'r' hard on old Wart in that last remark, I'm thinkin',"--glancing at
the dumpy bunch of a woman seated at their breakfast-table within, her
greedy blue eyes and snub-nose close to her plate.
The Quaker turned away, trying to hide a smile, and began tugging at
some dock-weeds. Her arms were tougher and stronger than Fawcett's.


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