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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Cressy"

Only for a moment; the dark eyes clouded again.
"I wish I was dead, Mr. Ford."
"Hallo!"
"Or--doin' suthin'."
"That's better. What do you want to do?"
"To work--make a livin' myself. Quit toten' wood and water at home; quit
cookin' and makin' beds, like a yaller Chinaman; quit nussin' babies and
dressin' 'em and undressin' 'em, like a girl. Look at HIM now," pointing
to the sweetly unconscious Johnny, "look at him there. Do you know what
that means? It means I've got to pack him home through the town jist ez
he is thar, and then make a fire and bile his food for him, and wash
him and undress him and put him to bed, and 'Now I lay me down to sleep'
him, and tuck him up; and Dad all the while 'scootin' round town with
other idjits, jawin' about 'progress' and the 'future of Injin Spring.'
Much future we've got over our own house, Mr. Ford. Much future he's got
laid up for me!"
The master, to whom those occasional outbreaks from Rupert were not
unfamiliar, smiled, albeit with serious eyes that belied his lips, and
consoled the boy as he had often done before.


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