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Updated: May 17, 2025
"Miss Sterling," said he, "you have seen Anice, my mother's waiting- maid?" I bowed. I was too much disconcerted to speak. "And she has told you her story of my mother's illness?" he went on, pitilessly holding me with his glance. "You need not answer," he again proceeded, as I opened my lips. "I know Anice; she has not the gift of keeping her thoughts to herself."
"I must speak to you at once; will you follow me?" asked that gentleman, bowing respectfully as I turned. I glanced at Mrs. Harrington, but he impatiently shook his head. "Anice is at the door," he remarked. "She is accustomed to Mrs. Harrington, and will see that she is properly looked after."
With this youthful friend, Jock, the old Squire who then of course was young had journeyed to Connecticut to buy merino sheep: that memorable trip when they met with Anice and Ruth Pepperill, the two girls whom they subsequently married and brought home. For the last seventeen years matters had not been going prosperously or happily at the Edwards farm.
Her cousin's ironing-board was on the porch, and presently a lean, elderly, active woman whisked out, her flat-iron in her hand. "Cousin Anice," called Theodosia from the gate, "how's the 'lection turned out?" Cousin Anice paused to put her finger in her mouth; thus moistened, she touched it to the flat-iron, which hissed smartly, and which she applied then to the apron on the board.
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