“Who did that, you little rascal!”
“I should say the spirits did it,” I said, as onest as a owl, an’ I went away quick cause he looked mad.
The nex plaice I come to was a grocery store, where a nuther young man lived. He had red hair an’ freckles, but he seemed to think hisself a beauty. I said:
“Hello, Peters!”
He said:
“The same yourself, Master George. Do you like raisins? Help yourself.”
Boys wot has three pretty sisters allers does get treted well, I notiss. I took a big hanful of raisins an’ sot on the counter eating ’em, till all at oncest, as if I jest thought of it, I took out his fotograf an’ squinted at it, an sez:
“I do declare it looks like you.”
“Let me see it,” sez he.
I wouldn’t for a long time, then I gave it to him. The girls had made freckles all over it. This was the one they wrote on its back, “He asked me, but I wouldn’t have him.” They’d painted his hair as red as a rooster’s comb. He got quite pale when he seen it clost.