h difficulty

Mineconzo amoeban at hamasaki.co.jp
Mon Aug 24 15:10:57 BST 2009

Is here mill is a god-send to us po' folks who've got chillun to burn.
They ain't a day we ortenter git down on our knees an' thank Mr.
Kingsley an' Mister Travis there. You know I done took down that sign I
useter have hangin' up in my house in the hall--that sign which said,
_God bless our home_? I've put up another one now." "What you done put
up now, Jud?" grinned a tall weaver with that blank look of expectancy
which settles over the face of the middle man in a negro minstrel troupe
when he passes the stale question to the end man, knowing the joke which
was coming. "Why, I've put up," said Jud brutally, "'_Suffer Little
Children to Come Unto Me_.' That's scriptural authority for cotton
mills, ain't it?" The paying went on, after the uproarious laughter had
subsided, and down the long row only the clinking of silver was heard,
intermingled now and then with the shrill voice of some creature
disputing with Kingsley about her account. Generally it ran thus: "_It
cyant be thet away. Sixty hours at five cents an hour--wal, but didn't
the chillun wuck no longer than that? I cyant--I cyant--I jes' cyant
live on that little bit._" Such it was, and it floated down the line to
Helen like the wail of a lost soul. When her time came Kingsley met her
with a
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