Beadle's Dime Novels No. 47: Tim Bumble's Charge — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

42 TIM BUMBLE’s CHARGE. “ How handy you are with your needle! in fact, with every thing,” said Harrison, pressing into her fingers a sil¥er coin. “ There, that will buy you a ribbon if nothing more.” “Tsn’t he handsome, though ?” ejaculated Bridget, looking after him—“ but as I was saying,” she added, with a glance of oracular wisdom, “ shouldn’t you be afraid ?” “ Afraid of what ?” “ Of them turns,” she whispered. : “ They’re all gone,” was the reply. . <i “ But it’s in my head and on me heart the story ye told ne about the odther poor boy. The rage came on him sud- denly, and he—” “ Whist, I tell ye,” cried Tim, really fearful ; “ that’s a thing that if mentioned and got to the ears of Mr. Lattison would ruin me intirely. Besides, it wasn’t wid him as wid Mr. Har- rison, for he weren’t of age, which Mr. Harrison is, and the { danger gone, accordin’ to the medical men in Paris, You Le Fronchée.” | : “Sure, an’ I hope so,” said Bridget, turning to her work. “There! d’ye iver see the like? if I haven’t sewed this whole seam wrong sid@out! Tim, ye may depind upon it, there's a trouble brewin’ somewhere.” “It’s all your nonsense, Bridget.” : “Didn’t I note it at the time Tooney Mike’s daughter died, jist on to tin wid the mazles? I was the one to sew on her dress, and I kept makin’ wrong stitches and gittin’ corners turned end for end, and true as ye live, Tim Bumble, there was au aecident happened at the grave.” . “ An’ what was that ?” queried Tim, with wide-open eyes. * “ Sure, what could happen to the dead ?” . “Well, it war the strangest sight these eyes iver saw—an’ if ye’d been to Ireland then, ye’d heard the story from town to town, for the tidings flew lik@ the fire in a high wind. Why—now be aisy, Tim—look alive, man, ye're spilling all jist come to the grave afther they’d had their proper wake, ) and the mother was crying fit to kill herself, and the coffin . Was sot down—an’ the praist, he—well if iver, Tim Bumble ye're trimbling like a lafe.” Now, Bridget, be aisy an’ go on, woman—be aisy and go on.” cComichooksrcom), " ~ —~\. _ =