They tore down my stove and tore up my carpet, and carried out fust one thing, then another, and sot them down beside the road, till all I had was out there.
When they got it all out, the deputy come in and says:
“Why dont you go out there where your things are? You have no right here. You must git out, so I can lock up the house.”
Says I: “Mistur, is Congressman Richer a goin to move in to-nite?”
Says he, sneerin like: “Why, Lord no; Mr. Richer wouldent live in sich a house as this—he lives in Washington; he lives in a fine house.”
“Well, then, Mistur, let me stay in here till I hear from Jobe.”
“No,” says he, “you must git out.”
“They pulled me away from the winder.”
Says I, chokin like: “Mistur, I cant go.”