How some folks can set by and see things going on _as_ they're going on, beats me, and le' me say I'm hard to beat.

That child, sir, is an orphan; got no father nor mother, let alone grandf'ther or grandm'ther, in the land of the living.
His father was some kind of a natural, I guess, or else he hadn't known Deacon Scraper by sight or hearing; but when he dies what does he do but leave that old--old--beetle-bug guardeen of that child, case of his mother dyin'.

Well, if I'd ha' had children, I might leave 'em to a fox for guardeen, or I might leave 'em to a horned pout, whichever I was a mind to, but I wouldn't leave 'em to Dym Scraper, and you can chalk that up on the door any ways you like." The good man paused, and puffed and snorted for some minutes in silence.

The Skipper waited, his dark face quietly attentive, his eyes very bright.
"Near blood ?" Mr.Bill Hen broke out again, with another blow on the table.

"No, he aint so dretful near blood, if you come to that.