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Grandma Padgett removed the sleeping child from his cart, and after trying vainly to make her eat or arouse herself, put her in the bed in the tent, attired in one of aunt Corinne's gowns. "She was just as helpless as a young baby," said Grandma Padgett, sitting down again by the fire. "I'll have a doctor look at that child when we go through Richmond. She acts like she'd been drugged."
"That's the daughter of the biggest stock man around here," said the toll-woman, returning, and passing over aunt Corinne's question. "She goes to college, but it don't make a simpleton of her. She always has a smile and a pleasant word. Her folks are real good friends of mine. They knew our folks in Ohio." "And did he come right in and grab you?" urged Bobaday, keeping to the main narrative.
At my age folks must favor themselves, and I'd like a bed to-night, if it is a tavern bed, and a set, table, if the vittles are tavern vittles. And we can stir out early." So Thrusty Ellen and Jonathan rode away with their father, unconscious of Robert and Corinne's superior feeling in stopping at a tavern. In the tavern parlor were a lot of sumptuous paper flowers under a glass case.
Of the wonderful clothes her mother laid out to put upon her the night of her departure, in place of aunt Corinne's over-grown things, and the show woman's tawdry additions. They wondered about her home and the colored people who waited on her, and if she would be quite well and cured of her stupor by the time she reached Baltimore.
Corinne's dramatic instinct made her prefer the melodies which frankly reproduced a certain passion; he also set most store by them. And yet she did not hesitate to show her lack of sympathy with certain rude harmonies which seemed quite natural to Christophe; they gave her a sort of shock when she came upon them; she would stop then and ask "if it was really so."
He hesitated, with aunt Corinne's ear jogging against his chin. Then in a loud whisper he communicated: "It was a man with a pig's head on him!" Aunt Corinne drew back into a rigid attitude. "I don't believe it!" she said. Robert Day passed over her incredulity with a flickering smile. "People don't have pigs' heads on them!" argued aunt Corinne. "Did he grunt?"
"They've come huntin' them from away over in Illinois. I remember that year the milk-sick was so bad there was more horse-thieves than we've ever heard of since." "But they ain't true robbers, are they?" said aunt Corinne's nephew in some disgust, his scarlet bandits paling. "Not the kind that come tryin' the house when I got scared," admitted the toll-woman.
False security! for the soul receives no pleasure from anything which it deems transient. Oswald and the Count arrived at Corinne's house, which was situated in the Quartiere di Trastevere, a little beyond the castle of St Angelo. The view of the Tiber gave an additional embellishment to this house, which was ornamented, internally, with the most perfect elegance.
Yvonne stood at a bench's end to watch one of them dart from bloom to bloom. "Ah, Corinne," she sighed, "if we could all be juz' humming-bird'!" "Chérie," cried her sister, "you are spilling yo' coffee!" Whether for the coffee, for the fact that we can't all be humming-birds, or for some thought not yet spoken, Mlle. Corinne's eyes were all but spilling their tears. As the trio sat down.
A new flourish of music was heard at the moment of Corinne's arrival, the cannon resounded and the triumphant Sybil entered the palace prepared for her reception.
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