Y' 're too suspicious, Miss Badlam; y' 're too easy to believe stories.

Myrtle Hazard was as pretty a child and as good a child as ever I see, if you did n't rile her; 'n' d' d y' ever see one o' them hearty lively children, that had n't a sperrit of its own?
For my part, I'd rather handle one of 'em than a dozen o' them little waxy, weak-eyed, slim-necked creturs that always do what they tell 'em to, and die afore they're a dozen year old; and never was the time when I've seen Myrtle Hazard, sence she was my baby, but what it's always been, 'Good mornin', Miss Byloe,' and 'How do you do, Miss Byloe?
I'm so glad to see you.' The handsomest young woman, too, as all the old folks will agree in tellin' you, s'ence the time o' Judith Pride that was,--the Pride of the County they used to call her, for her beauty.

Her great-grandma, y' know, Miss Cynthy, married old King David Withers.

What I want to know is, whether anything has been heerd, and jest what's been done about findin' the poor thing.

How d' ye know she has n't fell into the river?
Have they fired cannon?
They say that busts the gall of drownded folks, and makes the corpse rise.