That Girl of Johnson's — page 196: what you’re looking at

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

THAT GIRL OF JOHNSON’S, “Ded ye get ther water o” he whispered, hoarsely. ‘‘Were ther gal thar?” Then he sank back muttering: ‘‘D’lores— D’lores? Why, she’s jest D’lores—that’s all. She ain’t never hed no larnin’ ’s I knows ’bout. She’s better ’thout et, better ’thout et in her life.” Then, his voice rising above the hoarse, weak whisper, he called clearly with a new tone in it the name Dolores had never before heard from him—the name of her mother. For the moment she stood like a statue unable to move or speak ; she must hold her feelings in check—that was all she thought of—that and what she had to say. His eyes closed again, though he still muttered stray sentences, which she strained her ears to catch. They were few words now. It seemed to her she must cry aloud for his forgiveness of her injustice to him; that she could not stand there and see him die with the weight of her guilt upon her, knowing it was the last chance she would ever have to plead for his forgiveness. ‘I’m a rough ole feller, Mary,” the weak, brotee voice muttered faintly. ‘“‘I dedn’t mean ter make ye cry. I told ye I warn’t good ’nough fer ye.” Dr. Dunwiddie was standing beside Dolores, and uncon- sciously his eyes were fastened upon her face, spell-bound, as were the tender eyes of her friend at the window—as_ were the eyes of every one for the time in the room. Young Green’s hands were clenched on the back of the chair in front of him, and his face told his heart as plainly as could be shown, though no one there save Mrs. Allen looked at him for the time. “Ht’s a gal!” he muttered, weakly, his voice falling. ‘‘I sed most likely et’d be a gal. Jest my luck. Ef’t hed been a boy, now—ef ye know when ye’re well off, Tom Smith, ye’ll keep a still tongue in yer head ’bout thet gal o’ mine an’ ther jedge’s son ower yander. She’s a wonderful woman, is D’lores, he telled me so. She’d never stoop ter what ye hint et, an’ ye’d best be still forever ’bout sech atheng. But ef ever thet young feller kems around hyar ; 185. Gomicboo cS (E(e)