I travelled in the care of a mountain boy, Jake Marpole, one of the `hands' on my father's old farm under the Blue Ridge, who was now going West to work for my grandfather.
Jake bought everything the newsboys offered him: candy, oranges, brass collar buttons, a watch-charm, and for me a `Life of Jesse James,' which I remember as one of the most satisfactory books I have ever read.
This last remark made me bashful, and I shook my head and settled down to `Jesse James.' Jake nodded at me approvingly and said you were likely to get diseases from foreigners.
The boy could see her standing with the doorknob in her hand talking to someone within, no doubt to old Jake
Trunnion, her father.
"Because if you ain't him you're t'other twin, Jake. You're the spit'n image of Jubiter."
"Well, I'm Jake. But looky here, how do you come to know us Dunlaps?"
In his desire to take guitar lessons he applied to one of his young masters to teach him, but the young man, not having much faith in the ability of the slave to master the guitar at his age, sought to discourage him by telling him: "Uncle Jake, I will give you guitar lessons; but, Jake, I will have to charge you three dollars for the first lesson, two dollars for the second lesson, and one dollar for the third lesson.
Uncle Jake answered: "All right, boss, I hires you on dem terms.
I always thought that a boy with Jake
's chin and mouth would get his own way in the end.
"He'll go to torment, and no mistake," said little Jake.
"I'd be glad to see it, I'll be boun'," said little Jake.
"So 'd I, a heap," said Jake. "Lor, shouldn't we cotch it, Andy?"