"Now git my trunk stamped 'r fixed, 'r whatever they call it," she
said to Ripley in a commanding tone, which gave great delight to
the inevitable crowd of loafers begliming to assemble. "Now
remember, Tukey, have Granddad kill that biggest turkey night
before Thanksgiving, an' then you run right over to Mis'
Doudney's-she's got a nawful tongue, but she can bake a turkey
first-rate-an' she'll fix up some squash pies for yeh. You can warm
up one s' them mince pies. I wish ye could be with me, but ye
can't, so do the best ye can."
Ripley returning now, she said: "Waal, now, I've fixed things up
the best I could. I've baked bread enough to last a week, an' Mis'
Doudney has promised to bake for yeh."
"I don't like her bakin'."
"Waal, you'll haff to stand it till I get back, 'n' you'll find a jar o'
sweet pickles an' some crabapple sauce down suller, 'n' you'd better
melt up brown sugar for 'lasses, 'n' for goodness' sake don't eat all
them mince pies up the fust week, 'n' see that Tukey ain't froze
goin' to school. An' now you'd better get out for home. Good-bye,
an' remember them pies.
As they were riding home, Ripley roused up after a long silence.
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