Beadle's Dime Novels No. 126: Old Jupe — page 86: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

88 OLD JUPE. uneasily and almost screamed; it seemed to her she saw Miss Mary’s face Jooking in at her child. “Oh, Lord, don’t let no spooks come rovin’ dis blessed Christmas Eve,” she muttered. “De good Lord wull tak’ car little Luke an’ his ole maumy. But, ob, ’s tired! Ps tired ! I’s done fur, sartin sure, I can’t hol out anudder year. T's sorry eber I sent Jupe off. Dat poor ole critter’s give out on de way. He was faithful as a day; I know he nebber would stop till he dropped down in his tracks. He mus’ be killed or died 0’ fever, or caught an’ sol’ down Souf. He's dead, an’ dat bit o’ paper los’, so’s Miss Mary can’t have it to show fur her- self. I’s sorry Jupe went,’ and she began to sing again. “Oh, Jupe! ob, Jupe! you’s dead an’ gone, I know,” and as she sung, big tears rolled down her ebon face, sparkling in the firelight, and dropping on the broad, warm bosom which supported the child’s head. Again the sleet rattled on the window, and auntie, looking around, thought she saw a face pressed against the paue ; but her eyes were too dim with tears to be certain of any thing. “Ido begin to feel right curus,” she muttered, ceasing to sing, and sitting upright. “It seems to me ébery minute as if Jupe was g’wine to open dat door, jes’ as common as ef he was ohly out todo up de chores. My soul’s as light as a feader, all to oncet. I feel as if I was gwine right up trough de roof, jes’ as when I dream ’bout flyin’. Good gracious! Td make a purty figger, flyin’, wid dis ole caliker dress, an’ dem scuffs on my feet. No, no; I pines to go to glory, wen I’s done used up, but I ain’t jes’ ready yit to be transcribed. I wants to see dis babe safe in his mudder’s arms, and git my wite robes done ready—den I’s prepared for de will ob de Lord. Wat makes me feel so curus? It mus’ be kase it’s Christmas night—half-past even, now—'twill soon be Jesus’ birf-day, sure ’nough. ’Pears to me, de spirits ob de hull family has come back to keep Chrisemas in dar ole home.” One spirit had come back—a living spirit in tis human boy, and was hovering, out in the dark and cold, feeding ils starved eyes upon the brightness of the scene within. When Ciare thought she had seen a face pressed against the glass, she was: not mistaken. Little Luke’s mother stood there, devouring, with eager eyes, the sweet picture of her child asleep in commiclboooks. conn