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afternoon allus Auntie baby bettah bliged boun bout Bress Brother Marcus Bruddah buggy cabin cain't ception chillun circles wif Clementina colored comin Cou'se crazy cullud Dat's deesh dese dinin divo'ce door evah face feah Ferguson flowers fore girls gittin give Gloriana Glory Grace guests gwine ha'nts hand Hankerin head heah heart Hebben honey hostess Jerry's June's Juny Kansas kotch l'arn lady Lawd li'l ligi'n Liza look makin Mebbe Miss Nina Morgan moughty needah nevah niggers nohow nuff old Aunt June old eyes ole Aunt June ouah outen papah passin passin'-on party preacher Ralph Rastus rheum'tiz roun San Louie sayin sing sompin Spects suah talk talkin tell tole Twas twell Uncle Jerry Unk's voice w'en warsh whah whar whisp'rin white folks woman wu'ds yard you-all young
Page 75 - Darling I am growing old. Silver threads among the gold, shine upon my brow today, life is fading fast away. But, my darling you will be, will be, always young and fair to me.
Page 23 - Easily the most conspicuous thing in the yard, and one highly prized by Aunt June, was a mound near the gate. Here, on a rounded pile of earth, was displayed such a collection of broken chinaware and glittering, brightcolored glass as has not greeted your eyes since you looked last on your old playhouse.
Page 18 - Seem lak dem li'l jum'-pups suah do enjoy demselves crowdin' each other 'roun' in dat ole baby carriage,
Page 14 - Woven wire clutched its metal tendrils about pawpaw stakes. Discarded bank fixtures neighbored the wooden slats from a corn crib. Cellar gratings clasped hands with ornamental pickets. Barbed wire snarled its way through it all and held the motley mass to the task of guarding the dooryard of " Ole Aunt June." She knew about it, too, every splinter of it. "You-all askin' 'bout dem white pickets over dar,
Page 19 - Whose dat other baby carriage dar wif de white flowers hangin' over de sides? Dat's ole Mis' Preachah Newton's onliest li'l gal's, what 's daid.
Page 20 - Lan' sake! dat nex' onliest kid o' hern, dat Ralph Newton, he don' git none my flowers! He suah ack lak only son. Brekin
Page 13 - Twas she who had begged the plants and flowers and toted them home. 'Twas her hand that planted, watered, and coaxed them into bloom. From her lips, too, came those quasi-philosophic tellings of where, and how, and of whom she obtained the riches of her garden spot. Many a stranger...