Yes, an' look how
you acted on that day--eat till I was ashamed o' you--acted like you
never got anythin' at home. I never was so mortified in my life. Saw you
standin' thar with the leg of a shote in yo' hand, a makin' of a
speech."
"I was askin' a blessin' over the meat. I admit that I was hungry on
that occasion; I'd been savin' myse'f up. Thar ain't no use in goin' to
a barbecue unless you take yo' appetite with you."
"But thar's no sense in eatin' till everybody talks about it, goodness
knows."
"Who talked about it?"
"Everybody, that's who. Oh, you wouldn't love me if I was a dyin'."
"I'd much ruther have you livin'."
"No you wouldn't. If I was a dyin' it would tickle you mighty nigh to
death, you--"
In came Laz Spencer, the boy with the meal-bag on his arm.
"Glad to see you," Starbuck exclaimed, catching him by the hand; and
Laz, astonished at the warmth of the welcome, stood mute, as if
expecting for something to happen. "You got here jest in time, Laz."
"Howdy, Laz," Margaret greeted him, smoothing her countenance.
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