If there ever wuz a girl in the world that I loved, no kin to me, it wuz Marion Martin. She lived nigh enough so I knew her hull history from A to Z, specially Z. It wuzn't the beauty of her face nor her sweet disposition, though they wuz attractive, but it wuz her real self, the beauty and patience and duty of her hull life that made up her charm to me.
Her Ma died when she wuz fourteen, leavin' two twins jest of a age, three singles, and a Pa with a weak tot-*tlin' backbone that had to be propped up by somebody, and when Miss Martin laid down the job Marion took it up. She wuz real sweet lookin', her eyes wuz soft as soft brown velvet, and her hair about the same color, only with a sort of golden light when the sun shone on it, a clear white and pink complexion, a good plump little figger, always dressed in a neat quiet way, and pretty manners, so gentle and lovely that I always felt when I see her like startin' up that old him:
"Sister thou art mild and lovely,
Gentle as a summer breeze."
But didn't always, knowin' it would make talk. But I had noticed that she begun to look wan and peaked. I knowed that she had a lover, a good actin' and lookin'
