A True Story Word

Ai-je eu des problèmes? Misty Gwynne pour vous dire den je pars

It was summer time, and twilight. We were sitting on the porch of the farm-house, on the summit of the hill, and "Aunt Rachel" was sitting respectfully below our level, on the steps, -- for she was our servant, and colored. She was of mighty frame and stature; she was sixty years old, but her eye was undimmed and her strength unabated. She was a cheerful, hearty soul, and it was no more trouble for her to laugh than it is for a bird to sing. She was under fire, now, as usual when the day was done. That is to say, she was being chaffed without mercy, and was enjoying it. She would let off peal after peal of laughter, and then sit with her face in her hands and shake with throes of enjoyment which she could no longer get breath enough to express. At such a moment as this a thought occurred to me, and I said.

Aunt Rachel how is it that you ve lived sixty years and never had any trouble? She stopped quaking. She paused, and there was a moment of silence. She turned her face over her shoulder toward me and said, without even a smile in her voice