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I've had Governor Fiske, and Senator Doolan, and that big English capitalist who was here last year, and they well, sir, they were PLEASED! Or if you'd like to see the town if this is your first visit I'm a hand to show you." Nothing could exceed Mr. Hathaway's sympathetic acceptance of their courtesies, nor was there the least affectation in it.
I have to go down there with a plate of somethin' Miss Hathaway's made, and Miss Ainslie allers says: 'Wait just a moment, please, Hepsey, I would like to send Miss Hathaway a jar of my preserves." She relapsed unconsciously into imitation of Miss Ainslie's speech.
"Mumps, I'll be bound!" "No, madame! We have had a gift for the home " "More old faded carpets and carved walnut furniture, I wager!" Finally Dr. Weston was able to divulge to the board of managers that Mary Louise Burrows, Jim Hathaway's granddaughter, now Mrs. Danny Dexter, intended to hand over to them her grandfather's old home.
"I guess, now, that you're Miss Hathaway's niece, what's come to stay in her house while she goes gallivantin' and travellin' in furrin parts, be n't you?" "I am Miss Hathaway's niece, and I have never been here before. Where does she live?" "Up yander." He flourished the discarded fish-pole which served as a whip, and pointed out a small white house on the brow of the hill.
Suddenly the remaining half mile to town seemed very long indeed. Wallace Carpenter and Hamilton, the journalist, seated against the sun-warmed bench of Mrs. Hathaway's boarding-house, commented on the band as it stumbled in to the wash-room. "Those men don't know how big they are," remarked the journalist. "That's the way with most big men. And that man Thorpe belongs to another age.
The sound of wheels on the gravel outside told them that she was continuing her excursion. "I'm going to discharge her to-morrow," Ruth said. "You can't she is in Miss Hathaway's service, not yours. Besides, what has she done? She came back, probably, after something she had forgotten.
She had succeeded beyond her happy expectations. Mrs. McLane's eyes were flashing. Mrs. Ballinger looked like a proud silver poplar that had been seared by lightning. Sally burst into tears, and Miss Hathaway's large cold Spanish blue eyes saw visions of Nina Randolph, a brilliant creature of the early sixties, whom she had tried to save from the same fate.
The walls were a soft, dark green, bearing no disfiguring design, and the windows were draped with net, edged with Duchesse lace. Miss Hathaway's curtains hung straight to the floor, but Miss Ainslie's were tied back with white cord. The furniture was colonial mahogany, unspoiled by varnish, and rubbed until it shone. "You have a beautiful home," said Ruth, during a pause.
The most famous lovers' walk in England is the footpath from Stratford, leading about one mile westward through meadows to the hamlet of Shottery. Perhaps William Shakespeare had this very walk in mind when he wrote the song: "Journeys end in lovers' meeting Every wise man's son doth know." The end of his walk led to Anne Hathaway's home in Shottery.
Queens are not happy, and I am," said Merry, pausing to look at Anne Hathaway's cottage as she put up the picture, and to wonder if it was very pleasant to have a famous man for one's husband. "I guess your missionarying has done you good; mine has, and I'm getting to have things my own way more and more every day.
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