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Jeminy, who had seen so many elegant women, helped her with her apple jellies, and brought her kindlings for the stove. When the cows were milked, Mr. Jeminy came out of the barn, and stood looking up at the sky, yellow and green, with its promise of frost. "A cold night," he said to himself, "and a bright morning." He could hear the wind rising in the west.
"You will only tire yourself by talking," said Mr. Jeminy. "Rest now. Then in the morning . . ." "No," said Mrs. Grumble faintly, "there'll be no morning for me, unless it's the morning of the Lord. Not where I'm going." "You are going where I, too, must go," said Mr. Jeminy. "You are going a little before me. Soon I shall come hurrying after you." "It's nearly over," said Mrs. Grumble.
I'll get Crabbe to give me onion sets, cabbages, and tomato plants. Two rows of peas, and one of lettuce; I must have fine soil for my lettuce, and I must remember to plant my peas deeply. A row of beets. . . ." "Where," said Mrs. Grumble, who stood beside him, holding the hoe, "are you going to plant squash?" ". . . and carrots," continued Mr. Jeminy hurriedly. . . .
A spasm of coughing shook her; for a moment she seemed anxious to speak. But as Mr. Jeminy bent over her, her breath failed; her head fell back, and with a single, frightened glance, Mrs. Grumble passed away, without saying what she had intended. Mr. Jeminy closed her eyes, and folded her hands across her breast. "She is gone already," he thought; "she is far away.
"Oh, goodness," she whispered to Anna, "I'm going to catch it when I get home." But to start for home again in the gloom, took more courage than she had left her. Grasping her umbrella, her five pennies, and her doll, she retreated to the middle of the road. "Mr. Jeminy," she cried, "Mr. Jeminy, where are you?" The silence, more ghostly than before, was not to be endured. "Mr.
"Seed potatoes are over three dollars a bushel," she said: "it's hardly worth while putting them in." "Then let's not put any in," Mr. Jeminy said promptly, "for they are difficult to weed, and when they are grown you must begin to quarrel with insects, for whose sake alone, I almost think, they grow at all." "The bugs fall off," said Mrs. Grumble, "with a good shaking." "Fie," said Mr.
Life . . . life was, then, to be had leastways, a view of it, a good view of it was to be heard of, by special act of Grace, on Bade's Farm, at Adams' Forge of all places. So she dressed in her neatest, and was kinder than ever to Aaron, who was missing it. For she felt it was all just for her; she alone saw Mr. Jeminy for what he was, a grand, unusual peephole on the world.
It grew darker and darker, the trees creaked and popped in the cold, or groaned like bass viols; and all along the roadside Mr. Jeminy could see the feeble glimmer of fireflies, fallen among the leaves. He said to them, "Little creatures, my flame is also spent. But I do not intend, like you, to lie by the roadside in the wind, and keep myself warm with memories.
In those days folks did their own work. Then there was time for everything. But the days are not as long as they used to be when I was young. Now there's no time for anything. "But Noel was a good man. He was handy, and amiable. He could lay a roof, or mend a thresher, it was all the same to him. What do you think, Jeminy? Anna Barly won't forget him in a hurry heh?" "No," said Mr.
But gradually, as the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, he grew sad. It seemed to him as if the world, strange and contrary during the day, were again as it used to be when he was young. When he crossed the wooden bridge over Barly Water, the minnows, frightened, fled away in shoals. Mr. Jeminy turned down toward the village, where he had an errand to attend to.
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