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He loved the out-of-doors with a love which could not explain itself. But he now lost a definite climax when his wife's comment was heard to be: "Monona! Now it's all over both ruffles. And mamma does try so hard...."
"Bertie, Bertie please!" you heard his Ina say. Monona began to cry, and her father was irritated, felt that it would be ignominious to desist, and did not know that he felt this. But he knew that he was annoyed, and he took refuge in this, and picked up the oars with: "Some folks never can enjoy anything without spoiling it." "That's what I was thinking," said Ina, with a flash of anger.
Bett, her arm still circling the child Monona, now made her first observation. "Pity not to have went while the going was good," she said, and said no more. Nobody knew quite what she meant, and everybody hoped for the best. But Ina frowned. Mamma did these things occasionally when there was company, and she dared. She never sauced Dwight in private. And it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair
And she had on her wool chally, her coral beads, her cameo pin.... She went into the lighted dining-room. Monona was in bed. Di was not there. Mrs. Bett was in Dwight Herbert's leather chair and she lolled at her ease. It was strange to see this woman, usually so erect and tense, now actually lolling, as if lolling were the positive, the vital, and her ordinary rigidity a negation of her.
For Monona had pointed toward the railway station. The twelve-thirty train, which every one took to the city for shopping, would be just about leaving. "Monona," said Lulu, "don't you go out of the yard while I'm gone. Mother, you keep her " Lulu ran from the house and up the street. She was in her blue cotton dress, her old shoes, she was hatless and without money.
Monona entered this request with precision on Ina's nastiest moments, but she always rose, unabashed, and went, motherly and dutiful, to hear devotions, as if that function and the process of living ran their two divided channels. She had dispatched this errand and was returning when Mrs. Bett crossed the lawn from Grandma Gates's, where the old lady had taken comfort in Mrs.
You can't make that man believe that a horse has any intelligence. Newspaper reports of the proceedings of the Sunday School Association encamped on Lake Monona, at Madison, give about as many particulars of big catches of fish as of sinners. The delegates divide their time catching sinners on spoon-hooks and bringing pickerel to repentance.
She deposited the toast, tiptoed to her chair. A withered baked potato and cold creamed salmon were on her plate. The child Monona ate with shocking appreciation. Nothing could be made of the voices in the hall. But Mrs. Bett's door was heard softly to unlatch. She, too, was listening. A ripple of excitement was caused in the dining-room when Mr.
"Kindly settle these matters without bringing them to my attention at meal-time," he said icily. Lulu flushed and was silent. She was an olive woman, once handsome, now with flat, bluish shadows under her wistful eyes. And if only she would look at her brother Herbert and say something. But she looked in her plate. "I want some honey," shouted the child, Monona. "There isn't any, Pet," said Lulu.
Lulu began to recite the resources of the house for a lunch. Meanwhile, since the first mention of picnic, the child Monona had been dancing stiffly about the room, knees stiff, elbows stiff, shoulders immovable, her straight hair flapping about her face. The sad dance of the child who cannot dance because she never has danced.
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