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He stayed at the home of Squire Lansdale, who was by then a Confederate general. The squire had a daughter, whose name was Ellen, and she was perfectly beautiful. The squire also had two sons, who were a little too young for joining the Army, but not too young to cause trouble." Rick could see where the story led. He asked, "Was Captain Costin a handsome young man, by any chance?"
Miller that the ports had also served as ventilation for slaves using the mine to hide on their way North to freedom, but that was after the North had the area partly in its grip. They also found that from these same ports the Lansdale brothers had fired the shots that killed Captain Seth Costin, for the legend was almost entirely true.
"It is your mother's immaturity that makes you seem so " I thought it kind to hesitate for the word, but Miss Lansdale said, again confidently: "Oh, but I really am," and this with a finality that seemed to close the incident. Her voice had the warm little roughness of a thrush's, which sings through a throat that is loosely strung with wires of soft gold.
"You have another slave, Miss Caroline, another that refuses manumission another bit of personal property, clumsy but willing." "Thank you, Major, I need your kindness more than I might seem to need it. Good night!" and even then she gave me a rose, with the same coquetry, I doubt not, that had once made Colonel Jere Lansdale quick to think of his pistols when another evoked it.
"The gentlemanly curator of the side-show always says of the wild man thoughtfully, 'I believe he has a few photographs for sale. He is always right the wild man does have them, though I should not care to say that they're worth the money; that depends upon one's tastes, of course by the way, Miss Lansdale, I have long had a picture of you." "Has mother "
The brows went farther up at this until they were hardly to be detected under the broad rim of her garden hat. Her answer was icy, even for an "Indeed?" quite in her best Lansdale manner. "Yes, 'indeed!" I retorted somewhat rudely, "but never mind it's not of the least consequence. What I meant to say was this about those pictures of people, you remember."
Miss Katharine Lansdale was gone forever; in her place was a Miss Kate, even a Little Miss to the eye, who regarded me at first with an undisguised alarm, then with a curious interfusion of alarm and shyness, a little disguised with not a little effort. This was plain reading.
"My mother had beautiful long golden hair," said the woman child, adding simply, "papa says mine is just like it." Miss Lansdale regarded me narrowly. "You get me all mixed up," she said. "I like to. You're heady then like your mother's punch when it's 'all mixed up." "I must put in more ice," remarked Miss Lansdale, calmly.
She had now reached an age when she was beginning to do "pretties" with her lips as she talked almost at the age when I had first been enraptured by her mother, with the identical two braids, also the tassels dangling from her boot tops. This latter was unexciting as a coincidence, however. I myself had deliberately produced it. Miss Lansdale turned from talk with the child to greet me.
It seemed like borrowing trouble to look still farther into the future, but the vision was striking. Surely, History does repeat itself. I should have made this discovery for myself had it not been exploited before my day. For on the morrow I found my woman child on the Lansdale lawn when I went home in the afternoon.
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