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nothing unusual was about to occur. He jumps to the ground, heated with passion. "Ho, here!" he shouts in at the door; "don't you see the house is coming down?" Upon which the deaf old grandfather rises in his corner, and pulls off his cap, with the usual salutation, "Sarvant, Sah," etc., and sitting down again, relapses into a doze immediately. Frisbie is furious. "What you 'bout here?" he cries, in an alarming voice. "Bless you, Sir," answers the old woman, over a tub, "don't you see? We's doon' a little washin', Sir. Didn't you never see nobody wash afore?" And she proceeds with her rubbing. "The house will be tumbling on you in ten minutes!" "You think so? Now I don't, Mr. Frisbie! This 'ere house a'n't gwine to tumble down this mornin', I know. The Lord 'll look out for that, I guess. Look o' these 'ere childern! look o' me! look o' my ole father there, more'n a hunderd year ole! What's a-gwine to 'come on us all, if you pull the house down? Can't git another right away; no team to tote our things off with; an' how 'n the world we can do 'thout no house this winter I can't see. So I've jes' concluded to trust the Lord, an' git out my washin'." Rub, rub, rub! Frisbie grows purple. "Are you fools?" he inquires. "Yes, _I_ am! I'm Fessenden's." And the honest, staring youth comes forward to see what is wanted. This unexpected response rather pricks the wind-bag of the man's zeal. He looks curiously at the boy, who follows him out of the house. "Stephen, did you ever see that fellow before?" "Yes, Sir; he's the one come to our house Saturday night, and I showed round to the Judge's." "Are you the fellow?" "Yes," says Fessenden's. "There wouldn't any of you let me into your houses, neither!" "Wouldn't the people I sent you to let you in?" "No!" "Hear that, Stephen! your philanthropical Gingerford!--And what did you do?" "I didn't do nothin',--only laid down to die, I did." "But you didn't die, did you?" "No! This man he come along, and brought me here." "Here? to the niggers?" "Yes! You wouldn't have me, so they took me, and dried me, and fed me,--good folks, niggers!" Fessenden's bore this simple testimony. What is it makes the Frisbie color heighten so? Is it Gentleman Bill's quiet smile, as he stands by and hears this conversation? "And you have been here ever since?" says the man, in a humbler key, and with a milder look, than before. "Yes! It's a r'al good pl
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