Samantha at Saratoga

And he said, "Oh, shaw!"

But I went on nobly, onmindful of that shaw, as female pardners have to be, if they accomplish all the talkin' they want to.

And sez I, "It duz seem sort o' pitiful, don't it, to think how sort o' homeless the Americans are a gettin'? How the posys that blow under the winders of Home are left to waste their sweet breaths amongst the weeds, while them that used to love 'em are a climbin' mountain tops after strange nosegays."

The smoke that curled up from the chimbleys, a wreathin' its way up to the heavens -- all dead and gone. The bright light that shone out of the winder through the dark a tellin' everybody that there wuz a Home, and some one a waitin' for somebody -- all dark and lonesome.

Yes, the waiter and the waited for are a