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ter gin’t to yer years ago. Mebbe he can’t help himself now, but I feel it’s wrong. Nothing can’t beat that ar out o’ me. Sich a faithful crittur as ye’ve been,- and al- lers sot his business ‘fore yer own every way,- and reckoned on him more than yer own wife and chil’en! Them as sells heart’s love and heart’s blood, to get out thar scrapes, de Lord’Il be up to ‘em!” “Chloe! now if ye love me, ye won’t talk so, when perhaps jest last time we’ll ever have together! And I’ll tell ye, Chloe, it goes agin me to hear one word agin Mas’r. Wan’t he put in my arms a baby?- it’s natur I should think a heap of him. And he couldn’t be spected to think so much of poor Tom. Mas’rs is used to havin’ all these yer things done for ‘em, and nat’lly they don’t think so much on’t. They can’t be spected to, no way. Set him ‘longside of other Mas’rs-who’s had the treatment and the livin’ I’ve had? And he never would have let this yer come on me, if he could have seed it aforehand. I know he wouldn’t.” “Wal, any way, thar’s wrong about it somewhar,” said Aunt Chloe, in whom a stubborn sense of justice was a predominant trait; “I can’t jest make out whar ‘tis, but thar’s wrong somewhar, I’m clar o’ that.” “Yer ought ter look up to the Lord above-he’s above all-thar don’t a sparrow fall without him.” “It don’t seem to comfort me, but I spect it orter,” said Aunt Chloe. “But dar’s no use talkin’; I’ll jes wet up de corn-cake, and get ye one good breakfast, ‘cause nobody knows when you’ll get another.” |