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Various

"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 03, No. 17, March, 1859"

You
wouldn't know it. Why, he's got mats from Mogadore on all de entries,
and a great big 'un on de parlor; and ye ought to see de shawl he
brought Missus, an' all de cur'us kind o' tings to de Squire. 'Tell
ye, dat ar' boy honors his fader and mudder, ef he don't do nuffin
else,--an' dat's de fus' commandment wid promise, Ma'am; an' to see him
a-settin' up ebery day in prayer-time, so handsome, holdin' Missus's
han', an' lookin' right into her eyes all de time! Why, dat ar' boy is
one o' de 'lect,--it's jest as clare to me; and de 'lect has got to come
in,--dat's what I say. My faith's strong,--real clare, 'tell ye,"
she added, with the triumphant laugh which usually chorused her
conversation, and turning to the Doctor, who, aroused by her loud and
vigorous strain, was attending with interest to her.
"Well, Candace," he said, "we all hope you are right."
"_Hope_, Doctor!--I don't hope,--I _knows_. 'Tell ye, when I pray for
him, don't I feel enlarged? 'Tell ye, it goes wid a rush. I can feel it
gwine up like a rushin', mighty wind. I feels strong, I do.


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