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These few pages make a leaflet a reprint of a paper contributed to the Botanical Bulletin in 1878 by "Francis Parkman, late Professor of Horticulture at the Bussey Institution," and entitled "The Hybridization of Lilies."
The largest and most important of these was the estate which was given to Captain Joseph Weld by the province, about the year 1660, in consideration of services rendered. It was bequeathed by him to his son, John, and was the home of seven generations of that family, until about the beginning of this century , when it became the property of Mr. Benjamin Bussey.
With very small pecuniary means in early life, he made the most of every condition and advantage, and ultimately acquired large wealth and influence. Possibly some here may remember the family coach, with its yellow body and trimmings, drawn by four fine horses, in which Mr. Bussey and his family rode to church each Sabbath.
Downstairs Lady Deane and Miss Bussey, forgetful of their sufferings, were restoring Madame Painter to her senses; Painter was uncorking a bottle of champagne for Arthur Laing; Sir Roger Deane was talking in a low voice and persuasive tones to an imposing representative of the police. "What passed between them is unknown; possibly only words, possibly something else; at any rate, after a time, Deane smiled, the great man smiled responsively, saluted, and disappeared, murmuring something about Anglais, milords, and drôles. The precise purport of his reflections could not be distinctly understood by those in the house, for civility made him inarticulate, but when he was safely outside he looked at a piece of crisp paper in his hand, then, with his thumb pointing over his shoulder, he gave an immense shrug, and exclaimed: "Mais voil
"Oh, but you must come too." "It looks as if you were running after him." "I'll chance Charlie thinking that," cried Mary, clasping her hands in glee. Miss Bussey pretended to be reluctant to undertake the journey, but she was really quite ready to yield, and soon everything was settled on the new basis. "And now to write and tell people," said Miss Bussey. "That's the worst part of it."
Eyre, I loved that boy," he broke out, his stern and somber face working. "There are times even now when I can scarcely make myself believe that he did what he did." "Wait," pleaded Io. "How did he stop The Searchlight?" "By threatening Bussey with an exposé that would have blown him out of the water. Blackmail, if you like, Mrs. Eyre, and not of the most polite kind." "For me," whispered Io.
"Don't fence with me," struck in Banneker sharply. "You know what one." Major Bussey swept his gaze around the room for help or inspiration. The sight of the burly ex-policeman, stricken and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, disconcerted him sadly; but he plucked up courage to say: "The facts are well authent " Again Banneker cut him short. "Facts!
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"Have you taken the rooms, Mr. Ash forth?" inquired Miss Bussey. "No. I'm sorry. I forgot all about them." Miss Bussey was tired; she had been seasick, and the train always made her feel queer. "Has neither of you got an ounce of wits about you?" she demanded, and plunged forward to the desk. John and Mary received their numbers in gloomy silence, and mounted the stairs.
"We came to tell you, Auntie dear, that we have decided that we're not suited to one another," began Mary. "Not at all," said John decisively. Miss Bussey stared helplessly from one to the other. "It's all right, Miss Bussey," remarked John cheerfully. "We've had an explanation; we part by mutual consent." "John," said Mary, "is to be just my brother and I his sister.
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