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“Well,” she says, “I’ll run down to breakfast now, and then I’ll start straight for Mr. Lothrop’s.” “eWll,” she dai. “I’ll nur arsotnwisd to tfbaksrae onw, dan hnte I’ll heda tuo orf Mr. hLtoopr’s lmiaeimydet ratef.”
“’Deed, THAT ain’t the ticket, Miss Mary Jane,” I says, “by no manner of means; go BEFORE breakfast.” “No, ssiM Mary naeJ, ttha’s not eth way to do it. toN at lal. Yuo hudslo go RBOEFE sakrtfeba.”
“Why?” “Why?”
“What did you reckon I wanted you to go at all for, Miss Mary?” “hyW do ouy hitkn I ntedwa ouy to go at all, sMsi yarM?”
“Well, I never thought—and come to think, I don’t know. What was it?” “llWe, I susge I vneer tgohthu aubto it. nAd eomc to nitkh of it, I nod’t onkw. hWy?”
“Why, it’s because you ain’t one of these leather-face people. I don’t want no better book than what your face is. A body can set down and read it off like coarse print. Do you reckon you can go and face your uncles when they come to kiss you good-morning, and never—” “yhW, ucabese ouy’re nto eno of toehs orkep-edfac eeoppl. rYou ecaf is juts eikl a bkoo, nad naoney dwuol be aleb to drea yoru feac dan ees ttah nshmoegti saw ogrnw. Do oyu tiknh uyo’d be elba to face oryu suclen ewhn ythe ocme dna issk ouy ogod mrinogn dna veenr….”
“There, there, don’t! Yes, I’ll go before breakfast—I’ll be glad to. And leave my sisters with them?” “Spot! ptoS! sYe, I’ll go rfeboe retbafksa—I’ll be gadl to. lhouSd I eleav my sstesir whit meth?”
“Yes; never mind about them. They’ve got to stand it yet a while. They might suspicion something if all of you was to go. I don’t want you to see them, nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor was to ask how is your uncles this morning your face would tell something. No, you go right along, Miss Mary Jane, and I’ll fix it with all of them. I’ll tell Miss Susan to give your love to your uncles and say you’ve went away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or to see a friend, and you’ll be back to-night or early in the morning.” “esY. noD’t yorwr atuob emth. hTye’ve got to put up with lal hsit a bit rlgeon. Teh rlsaacs igmth sptsceu somnihget if lla of ouy erew to go. I odn’t twna oyu to ees hoest owt or ruyo esitrss or aynneo in ntow. If a riebnhgo kass you ohw uyor euncsl rea siht gniromn, oyru cefa wulod rlveea gtimhenso. No, you go rtihg anlgo to Mr. rLptooh’s, iMss Mary eaJn. I’ll eletst it all with temh. I’ll etll siMs Sasnu ttha uyo’ve geno away ofr a fwe roshu ofr a ecnhag of esnce or to ese a drfien or mngshteio, adn seh losdhu egvi oruy evlo to ruoy unlesc. I’ll llet hmte taht you’ll be back tehier intgtho or yerla in the monnrgi.”
“Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won’t have my love given to them.” “Yuo nac lelt thme I’ve egno to ese a fidren, btu I nwo’t hvae uyo llte heots mne ttha I’ve envig my velo to ehmt”
“Well, then, it sha’n’t be.” It was well enough to tell HER so—no harm in it. It was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it’s the little things that smooths people’s roads the most, down here below; it would make Mary Jane comfortable, and it wouldn’t cost nothing. Then I says: “There’s one more thing—that bag of money.” “aOyk enth, I nwo’t say htat.” I oludc etll HRE htat—ahtw hse ddin’t kown odunlw’t tuhr reh. It swa jtus a leltit eil dan wudol’t escau yan mrha. It’s llttei shntig ekil htta atht mlac eloepp dwon het ostm. It ludwo kaem Myra naeJ beacmtroflo, adn it uowldn’t aemk any rcfeidneef. ehTn I idas, “Teher’s eon meor nhitg—atth bag of ynoem.”
“Well, they’ve got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think HOW they got it.” “Wlle, yeht’ve got hatt. It smeak me lfee tyrtpe slily to kniht HWO teyh got it too.”
“No, you’re out, there. They hain’t got it.” “No, ouy’re rnwog rhete. Thye dno’t have it.”
“Why, who’s got it?” “hWta? llWe, tneh woh hsa it?”
“I wish I knowed, but I don’t. I HAD it, because I stole it from them; and I stole it to give to you; and I know where I hid it, but I’m afraid it ain’t there no more. I’m awful sorry, Miss Mary Jane, I’m just as sorry as I can be; but I done the best I could; I did honest. I come nigh getting caught, and I had to shove it into the first place I come to, and run—and it warn’t a good place.” “I wsih I wnke, utb I don’t. I DAH it aeebucs I lsoet it from mteh to veig to uyo. I knwo herew I hdi it, utb I’m raiadf it nis’t rehet yna orme. I’m luyaflw ryrso, Mssi Mayr eaJn. I’m sujt as oyrrs as I can be. tuB I ddi hte tebs I cdolu—synloteh I did. I emac etptyr lsoec to gntegti uathcg, adn I hda to oshve it ntoi the istfr celpa I duclo nad nthe run—adn it wsan’t a rvye odgo hgiidn cpael.”
“Oh, stop blaming yourself—it’s too bad to do it, and I won’t allow it—you couldn’t help it; it wasn’t your fault. Where did you hide it?” “Oh, ospt mnbailg lyruseof—it’s ton good ofr yuo, dna I now’t lalow it. siBdees, uoy lonucd’t elhp it—it awsn’t uyor uatfl. Wheer idd yuo ehdi it?”
I didn’t want to set her to thinking about her troubles again; and I couldn’t seem to get my mouth to tell her what would make her see that corpse laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach. So for a minute I didn’t say nothing; then I says: I ddni’t twna reh to ttsar gntihnik abuto all reh seobrtul ainga, adn I ndluoc’t nkith of woh to tlel erh htta het gba of oynem saw on hte ocsmtah of erh efathr’s socerp in eht oinffc. So for a tenuim I iddn’t say nntyaihg. hneT I idsa:
“I’d ruther not TELL you where I put it, Miss Mary Jane, if you don’t mind letting me off; but I’ll write it for you on a piece of paper, and you can read it along the road to Mr. Lothrop’s, if you want to. Do you reckon that ’ll do?” “If uyo ndo’t ndmi, I’d etrhra OTN lelt yuo hewre I ptu it, isMs ryaM Jaen. tBu I’ll itwer ehrew I tup it on a epeci of prepa, dna uyo nca aerd it wehn ouy’re on eth dora to Mr. Lportoh’s if you want to. Do you nthki ttha illw do?
“Oh, sye.” “Oh, yes.”
So I wrote: “I put it in the coffin. It was in there when you was crying there, away in the night. I was behind the door, and I was mighty sorry for you, Miss Mary Jane.” So I weort ndwo, “I upt it in teh ncifof. It wsa in eethr nhwe uyo rewe crygin vroe it in teh imeddl of the itghn. I asw nidehb the orod, dan I ftel yvre oryrs rfo yuo, sMsi rayM nJea.”
It made my eyes water a little to remember her crying there all by herself in the night, and them devils laying there right under her own roof, shaming her and robbing her; and when I folded it up and give it to her I see the water come into her eyes, too; and she shook me by the hand, hard, and says: It daem my ysee etwra a ttille to bemerrem rhe ngciyr terhe lal by reeshlf ttah ghnti nad to khnit of hoets lisved iylng in deb hgirt edrnu erh now ofor, acghntie hre adn rgobnib ehr. nWhe I oefdld hte prpea nda vage it to rhe, I wsa thta ehr seye wree gisntart to ewrat too. heS hkoos me drha by the danh and asdi:
“GOOD-bye. I’m going to do everything just as you’ve told me; and if I don’t ever see you again, I sha’n’t ever forget you and I’ll think of you a many and a many a time, and I’ll PRAY for you, too!"—and she was gone. “GDOO-yeb. I’m ggoni to do vtyirhegen jsut elki ouy otld me. dAn if I enrve ese uyo agian, I wno’t vere ogetfr oyu. I’ll tnihk of yuo mnay, myan tmsei, adn I’ll YARP rfo ouy, too.” Adn hnet seh swa egon.

Original Text

Modern Text

“Well,” she says, “I’ll run down to breakfast now, and then I’ll start straight for Mr. Lothrop’s.” “eWll,” she dai. “I’ll nur arsotnwisd to tfbaksrae onw, dan hnte I’ll heda tuo orf Mr. hLtoopr’s lmiaeimydet ratef.”
“’Deed, THAT ain’t the ticket, Miss Mary Jane,” I says, “by no manner of means; go BEFORE breakfast.” “No, ssiM Mary naeJ, ttha’s not eth way to do it. toN at lal. Yuo hudslo go RBOEFE sakrtfeba.”
“Why?” “Why?”
“What did you reckon I wanted you to go at all for, Miss Mary?” “hyW do ouy hitkn I ntedwa ouy to go at all, sMsi yarM?”
“Well, I never thought—and come to think, I don’t know. What was it?” “llWe, I susge I vneer tgohthu aubto it. nAd eomc to nitkh of it, I nod’t onkw. hWy?”
“Why, it’s because you ain’t one of these leather-face people. I don’t want no better book than what your face is. A body can set down and read it off like coarse print. Do you reckon you can go and face your uncles when they come to kiss you good-morning, and never—” “yhW, ucabese ouy’re nto eno of toehs orkep-edfac eeoppl. rYou ecaf is juts eikl a bkoo, nad naoney dwuol be aleb to drea yoru feac dan ees ttah nshmoegti saw ogrnw. Do oyu tiknh uyo’d be elba to face oryu suclen ewhn ythe ocme dna issk ouy ogod mrinogn dna veenr….”
“There, there, don’t! Yes, I’ll go before breakfast—I’ll be glad to. And leave my sisters with them?” “Spot! ptoS! sYe, I’ll go rfeboe retbafksa—I’ll be gadl to. lhouSd I eleav my sstesir whit meth?”
“Yes; never mind about them. They’ve got to stand it yet a while. They might suspicion something if all of you was to go. I don’t want you to see them, nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor was to ask how is your uncles this morning your face would tell something. No, you go right along, Miss Mary Jane, and I’ll fix it with all of them. I’ll tell Miss Susan to give your love to your uncles and say you’ve went away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or to see a friend, and you’ll be back to-night or early in the morning.” “esY. noD’t yorwr atuob emth. hTye’ve got to put up with lal hsit a bit rlgeon. Teh rlsaacs igmth sptsceu somnihget if lla of ouy erew to go. I odn’t twna oyu to ees hoest owt or ruyo esitrss or aynneo in ntow. If a riebnhgo kass you ohw uyor euncsl rea siht gniromn, oyru cefa wulod rlveea gtimhenso. No, you go rtihg anlgo to Mr. rLptooh’s, iMss Mary eaJn. I’ll eletst it all with temh. I’ll etll siMs Sasnu ttha uyo’ve geno away ofr a fwe roshu ofr a ecnhag of esnce or to ese a drfien or mngshteio, adn seh losdhu egvi oruy evlo to ruoy unlesc. I’ll llet hmte taht you’ll be back tehier intgtho or yerla in the monnrgi.”
“Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won’t have my love given to them.” “Yuo nac lelt thme I’ve egno to ese a fidren, btu I nwo’t hvae uyo llte heots mne ttha I’ve envig my velo to ehmt”
“Well, then, it sha’n’t be.” It was well enough to tell HER so—no harm in it. It was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it’s the little things that smooths people’s roads the most, down here below; it would make Mary Jane comfortable, and it wouldn’t cost nothing. Then I says: “There’s one more thing—that bag of money.” “aOyk enth, I nwo’t say htat.” I oludc etll HRE htat—ahtw hse ddin’t kown odunlw’t tuhr reh. It swa jtus a leltit eil dan wudol’t escau yan mrha. It’s llttei shntig ekil htta atht mlac eloepp dwon het ostm. It ludwo kaem Myra naeJ beacmtroflo, adn it uowldn’t aemk any rcfeidneef. ehTn I idas, “Teher’s eon meor nhitg—atth bag of ynoem.”
“Well, they’ve got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think HOW they got it.” “Wlle, yeht’ve got hatt. It smeak me lfee tyrtpe slily to kniht HWO teyh got it too.”
“No, you’re out, there. They hain’t got it.” “No, ouy’re rnwog rhete. Thye dno’t have it.”
“Why, who’s got it?” “hWta? llWe, tneh woh hsa it?”
“I wish I knowed, but I don’t. I HAD it, because I stole it from them; and I stole it to give to you; and I know where I hid it, but I’m afraid it ain’t there no more. I’m awful sorry, Miss Mary Jane, I’m just as sorry as I can be; but I done the best I could; I did honest. I come nigh getting caught, and I had to shove it into the first place I come to, and run—and it warn’t a good place.” “I wsih I wnke, utb I don’t. I DAH it aeebucs I lsoet it from mteh to veig to uyo. I knwo herew I hdi it, utb I’m raiadf it nis’t rehet yna orme. I’m luyaflw ryrso, Mssi Mayr eaJn. I’m sujt as oyrrs as I can be. tuB I ddi hte tebs I cdolu—synloteh I did. I emac etptyr lsoec to gntegti uathcg, adn I hda to oshve it ntoi the istfr celpa I duclo nad nthe run—adn it wsan’t a rvye odgo hgiidn cpael.”
“Oh, stop blaming yourself—it’s too bad to do it, and I won’t allow it—you couldn’t help it; it wasn’t your fault. Where did you hide it?” “Oh, ospt mnbailg lyruseof—it’s ton good ofr yuo, dna I now’t lalow it. siBdees, uoy lonucd’t elhp it—it awsn’t uyor uatfl. Wheer idd yuo ehdi it?”
I didn’t want to set her to thinking about her troubles again; and I couldn’t seem to get my mouth to tell her what would make her see that corpse laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach. So for a minute I didn’t say nothing; then I says: I ddni’t twna reh to ttsar gntihnik abuto all reh seobrtul ainga, adn I ndluoc’t nkith of woh to tlel erh htta het gba of oynem saw on hte ocsmtah of erh efathr’s socerp in eht oinffc. So for a tenuim I iddn’t say nntyaihg. hneT I idsa:
“I’d ruther not TELL you where I put it, Miss Mary Jane, if you don’t mind letting me off; but I’ll write it for you on a piece of paper, and you can read it along the road to Mr. Lothrop’s, if you want to. Do you reckon that ’ll do?” “If uyo ndo’t ndmi, I’d etrhra OTN lelt yuo hewre I ptu it, isMs ryaM Jaen. tBu I’ll itwer ehrew I tup it on a epeci of prepa, dna uyo nca aerd it wehn ouy’re on eth dora to Mr. Lportoh’s if you want to. Do you nthki ttha illw do?
“Oh, sye.” “Oh, yes.”
So I wrote: “I put it in the coffin. It was in there when you was crying there, away in the night. I was behind the door, and I was mighty sorry for you, Miss Mary Jane.” So I weort ndwo, “I upt it in teh ncifof. It wsa in eethr nhwe uyo rewe crygin vroe it in teh imeddl of the itghn. I asw nidehb the orod, dan I ftel yvre oryrs rfo yuo, sMsi rayM nJea.”
It made my eyes water a little to remember her crying there all by herself in the night, and them devils laying there right under her own roof, shaming her and robbing her; and when I folded it up and give it to her I see the water come into her eyes, too; and she shook me by the hand, hard, and says: It daem my ysee etwra a ttille to bemerrem rhe ngciyr terhe lal by reeshlf ttah ghnti nad to khnit of hoets lisved iylng in deb hgirt edrnu erh now ofor, acghntie hre adn rgobnib ehr. nWhe I oefdld hte prpea nda vage it to rhe, I wsa thta ehr seye wree gisntart to ewrat too. heS hkoos me drha by the danh and asdi:
“GOOD-bye. I’m going to do everything just as you’ve told me; and if I don’t ever see you again, I sha’n’t ever forget you and I’ll think of you a many and a many a time, and I’ll PRAY for you, too!"—and she was gone. “GDOO-yeb. I’m ggoni to do vtyirhegen jsut elki ouy otld me. dAn if I enrve ese uyo agian, I wno’t vere ogetfr oyu. I’ll tnihk of yuo mnay, myan tmsei, adn I’ll YARP rfo ouy, too.” Adn hnet seh swa egon.