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She had had nothing to do but to fall sick under her troubles, and she had honestly and effectually done it. But how should they manage another year, and another? How long would they have any income, if such a piece was to be taken out of the principal every six months? In the spring, Mrs. Argenter declared it was of no use; they must give up and go to board.
He sold off quantities of the best young plants, we found, just before they came to show for anything." "Our man has been with us for eight years," said Rodney Sherrett. "I dare say he could recommend some one to you, if you liked; and he wouldn't send anybody that wasn't right. Shall I ask him?" Mrs. Argenter would be delighted if he would; and then Mr.
Argenter, not having any very fresh, instant spiritual life, I am afraid, out of which to feed her child, chose for her in dim remembrance of what had been thought good for herself when she was little, that she "didn't know exactly as she did 'thank the goodness and the grace that on her birth had smiled." She "should like pretty well to have been a little Lapland girl with a sledge; or a Chinese; or a kitchen girl; a little while, I mean!"
Argenter had built some five years since, when Sylvie, with Rod Sherrett beside her, came driving up the long avenue, or, as Mrs. Argenter liked to call it, out of the English novels, the approach. She laid back her canvas and wools into the graceful Fayal basket-stand, and came down the first flight of stone steps to meet them. "How late you are, Sylvie!
Argenter could run smoothly in one polished groove; she was thrown out now, and to her the whole world was off its axis. Her House that Jack built had tumbled down; she thought so, not accepting this strange block that had come to be wrought in.
Sylvie had Aggie Townsend with her, and she put her head out at the window on one side just as her father passed on the other, and directed Michael, with a very elegant nonchalance, to "set this little girl down" as aforesaid. Mr. Argenter had been half amused and half angry. The anger passed off, but he had kept up the joke. "O, do let that old story alone," exclaimed Mrs. Argenter.
Rod Sherrett and Sylvie Argenter had danced together at the Roxeter Assemblies, and the little Dorbury "Germans;" they had boated, and picknicked, and skated in company, but to be tumbled together into a baker's shop, torn and frightened, and dusty, each feeling, also, in a great scrape, this was an odd and startling partnership.
She had heard enough about the place or iver she kim intil it, an' the bigger fool she iver to iv set her fut inside the dooers." That was it. It came to that pass, now. They "heard about the place before iver they kim intil it." The Argenter name was up. There was no getting out of the bog-mire. Sylvie ran the gauntlet of the village refuse, and had to go to Boston to the intelligence offices.
The two Ingraham girls had been sitting in their own room over the shop when the accident occurred, and it was there they now took Sylvie Argenter, to have her dress tacked together again, and to wash her face and hands and settle her hair and hat. Mrs. Ingraham came bustling after with "arnicky" for the bruised arm. They were all very delighted and important, having the great Mr.
Sylvie Argenter, with all her nonsense, had a way of putting herself, imaginatively, into other people's places. She used to tell her mother, when she was a little child and said her hymns, which Mrs.
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