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You were bred up here, and know nothing better, poor old Mamsey, and pottering suits you exactly; but it is too much to ask me to sacrifice my wider fields of culture and usefulness. MRS. M. Grandpapa would enjoy nothing so much as reading with you. He said so. C. Oxford half a century old and wearing off ever since. No, I thank you! Besides, it is not only physical science, but art.
All of a sudden he heaves all the tea in Boston Harbor overboard, and whacks out a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on. That was HIS style he never give anybody a chance. He had suspicions of his father, the Duke of Wellington. Well, what did he do? Ask him to show up? No drownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat.
You saw at a glance that she had been a mignonne blonde, strangely unlike her tall, ugly, dingy-complexioned son; unlike her daughter-in-law, too, whose large-featured brunette beauty seemed always thrown into higher relief by the white presence of little Mamsey.
"I don't understand, mamsey," she whispered, cuddling close, "if you felt like that and worried, why did you let me go away?" "Because, my child," there was something triumphant in her mother's voice, "some inner sense made me believe that though you look like your father and act like him in many ways, you have a nature and a character quite of your own.
And when I'm very grown-up and can't go to school any more we'll travel, won't we? You and me and Little-Dad won't we, mamsey?" "Yes, dear." But the mother's eyes smiled in the darkness she was thinking of the empty nest. Jerry laid her cheek against her mother's arm. She drew a long breath. "The world's so wonderful, isn't it?
He would give you full scope for that, or for lectures. C. Yes; about vaccination and fresh air! or a reading of John Gilpin or the Pied Piper. Mamsey, you know a model parish stifles me. I can't stand your prim school-children, drilled in the Catechism, and your old women who get out the Bible and the clean apron when they see you a quarter of a mile off. Free air and open minds for me!
"Always the same old story," said Florence. "It's wonderful the good I do just sailing around and radiating moral influence. The count says I ought to get a medal from the government with my profile on one side and a composite picture of my admirers on the other! And if I do, Mamsey, I'll give it to you to keep!"
Pittman called, and joined her in the garden, where she had been sitting for some time under one of the great apple-trees, thinking how Robert, in his best moods, used to take little Mamsey to look at the cucumbers, or to see the Alderney cow with its calf in the paddock. The tears and sobs had come again at these thoughts; and when Mr.
That mother was living still, and her own large black easy-chair, where she sat knitting through the livelong day, was now set ready for her at the breakfast-table, by her son's side, a sleek tortoise-shell cat acting as provisional incumbent. 'Good morning, Mamsey! why, you're looking as fresh as a daisy this morning. You're getting young again', said Mr.
MRS. M. So, my dear, you think it impossible to be happy here? C. Little Mamsey, why WILL you never understand? It is not a question of happiness, but of duty to myself. MRS. M. And that is C. Not to throw away all my chances of self-improvement by burrowing into this hole. MRS. M. Oh, my dear, I don't like to hear you call it so. C. Yes, I know you care for it.
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