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"And then," she went on, suddenly throwing out an imperative gesture of silence "and then, after I've been in this here house a long, long time, and you all gits so's you like me awful awful awful well, then some day you'll go in that room there and that room there and in the kitchen and out on the porch and down the cellar and out in the smoke-house and the wood-house and the loft and all around oh, ever' place and in here and up the stairs and all them rooms up there and you'll look behind all the doors and in all the cubboards and under all the beds and then you'll look sorry-like, and holler out, kind o' skeert, and you'll say: 'Where is Mary Alice Smith? And then you'll wait and listen and hold yer breath; and then somepin' 'll holler back, away fur off, and say: 'Oh she has gone home! And then ever'thing'll be all still ag'in, and you'll be afraid to holler any more and you dursn't play and you can't laugh, and yer throat'll thist hurt and hurt, like you been a-eatin' too much calamus-root er somepin'!" And as the little gipsy concluded her weird prophecy, with a final flourish of her big pale eyes, we glanced furtively at one another's awestruck faces, with a superstitious dread of a vague indefinite disaster most certainly awaiting us around some shadowy corner of the future.
Tinneray with increasing solemnity chewed her calamus-root "now she's been and bought one of them ottermobiles and runs it herself like you'd run your sewin'-machine, just as shameless " Both of the ladies glared condemnation at the distant blue feather. Mrs. Tinneray continued, "Hetty Cronney's worth a dozen of her.
Bean, herself chewing calculatingly, handed Mrs. Tinneray a bit of sugared calamus-root. "Is your cousin Hen dark-complexioned like your folks?" she asked scientifically. Mrs. Tinneray, narrowing both eyes, considered. "More auburn-inclined, I should say he ain't rill smart, Hen ain't, he gets took with spells now and then, but I never held that against him." "Uh-huh!" agreed Mrs.
To modern vulgarity, whose ideal of Parnassus is a tap-room of howling politicians, there is nothing so offensive, as there is nothing so incredible, as the notion that a poet may hold his own comrade something dearer than the public. The author of Ionica would deserve well of his country if he had done no more than draw this piece of aromatic calamus-root from the Greek waters.
Bean sympathetically. "Well, then, Mabel Hutch and her Popper took against poor little Hetty. Old man Hutch he died and left everything to Mabel, and she never goes near her own sister!" Mrs. Bean raised gray-cotton gloved hands signifying horror. "St st st !" she deplored. She searched in her reticule for more calamus-root. "He didn't leave her nothing?" "No, ma'am! This one!"
Another offered me the pleasant calamus-root, which in those days people liked to chew. A man in a red coat walked in the roadway ringing a bell and crying, "Lost child!" Sedan-chairs or chaises set down officers. The quiet, sedate city of Penn had lost its air of demure respectability, and I felt like one in a strange place.
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