This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1909 Excerpt: ...Rachel Somebby, his Wife. Sallt Somkrby, his Daughter COSTUMES. - Silas, dark pants, short, thick boots, yellow rest, a towel pinned about his neck, gray wig, face lathered. Habbt, gray pants, blue shirt, black neckkerchief, dark coat. Bias, thick boots, blue frock, woolly wig, black face, long whip. Fat Murphy, in ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1909 Excerpt: ...Rachel Somebby, his Wife. Sallt Somkrby, his Daughter COSTUMES. - Silas, dark pants, short, thick boots, yellow rest, a towel pinned about his neck, gray wig, face lathered. Habbt, gray pants, blue shirt, black neckkerchief, dark coat. Bias, thick boots, blue frock, woolly wig, black face, long whip. Fat Murphy, in shirt sleeves, blue overalls, cap, wig. Johnny, close-cut hair, pants of his father's, rolled up at bottom, drawn up very high with suspenders, thin coat, short and open, very broad brimmed straw hat. Rachel and Sally, neat calico dresses. Scene.--Room in Somerby's House. Old-fashioned sofa, B.; table, C., laid for breakfast. Habby seated B. of table, eating; rocking-chair, R. c. Sallt stated, L-, shelling peas or paring apples. Entrances, B., I. md o. Sotty. (Singing.) "Roll on, gilrer moon, Guide the traveller big (raj, While the nightingale's song is in tone; For I never, never more With ray true love shall stray By the sweet, silver light of the moon." Harry. Beautiful, beautiful I "There's music in that air." Now take a fresh roll, and keep me company while I take another of your mother's delicious fresh rolls. Sally. Making the sixth you have devoured before my eyes I Harry. Exactly. What a tribute to her cooking I She's the best bred woman in the country. Her pies are miracles of skill; her rolls are rolls of honor; her golden butter is so sweet, it makes ma sweet upon her. Sally. Well, I declare, Harry Holden, that's poetry! Harry. Is it? Then hereafter call me the poet of the breakfast table. My lay shall be seconded with a fresh egg Sally. Another? Land sakes I you think of nothing but eating. Harry. Exactly, when I'm hungry. My hunger once appeased, I think of this good farm--the broad fields, mowing, haying, t...
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