Beadle's Dime Novels No. 47: Tim Bumble's Charge — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

TIM BUMBLE’S CHARGE. CHAPTERI TIM BUMBLE AND THE NEW-COMERS, “On! Miss Arty, why do ye be afther t’asing me for stories all the time? Sure, isn’t me head intirely dry wid the dumb- ager? Dobe quiet an’ good, Miss Arty, while I mend this net. If it isn’t done by sundown, it’s the most illigant scolding Misther Richard ’ll give me, like a true gintleman as he is. Now what d’ye t’ase for ?” “Oh! Bumbledyhum, you do tell such nice stories!” cried the child, seraping handfuls of fine, white sand, and throwing it upward, from whence it came down again in.cloud showers. ' “Sure, yer hair’ll be tat consistency paste ’ll be nowhere beside it,” said the man, looking up for a moment, and wincing as the wind-swept particles whirled toward his eyes. “It’s too nice, intirely, to be makin’ a sieve of, that way, an’ if it works through into the brains, it'll give you, may-be, what little Pats? died with.” “That was the dropsy—oh! now you're going to tell me a story, I know; but, Bumbledyhum, it’s water makes dropsy, not sand.” “ And isn’t sand water's first cousin, sure? Ain’t we right on the water’s edge, and don’t the sand run with it? Stands to reason, Arty, that—that—” “ Well, say—what is it ?” “That they're relashuns, honey; the dropsy and the wather, and the sand,—and so—howly Saints! I’ve run the net-hook into mej'int. Oh! glory, the pain of it, and you a-laughin’, Miss Arty.” “ How can I help it, Bumbledyhum, to hear you cry glory, _ like old Aunty Upham, the Methodist, and all because you hurt yourself—oh ! how funny. Why, how the blood does Comiclooks.CGOnn ™ .