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"I got your note last night in Washington," he returned. "It was forwarded by mail from Applegate. Is the doctor still with her?" "No, he has just gone. The rector is there now. She finds him a great comfort." "It was so sudden, Aunt Kesiah she appeared well when I left her. What caused the attack?" "A talk she had had with Mr. Chamberlayne.
She hadn't time even to reflect whether she was lonely or not. She had no intention of letting Applegate Farm sink back to the untidy level of neglect in which she had found it, and its needs claimed much of her energy. She tried to find time in which to read a little, for she felt somewhat guilty about the unceremonious leave she had taken of her schooling.
Battle in the Lava Beds. On Sunday, January 12, 1873, a strong reconnoitering force was sent out under Colonel Perry of the regulars and Captain O. C. Applegate of the volunteers. On the bluff overlooking the lava beds they found the Indians and found them full of fight. A picket was surprised and a gun captured, but they were unable to say whether any of them had been wounded in the skirmish.
Half-way up the sere dooryard, Ken touched his wondering mother's arm and drew her to a standstill. There lay Applegate Farm, tucked like a big gray boulder between its two orchards. Asters, blue and white, clustered thick to its threshold, honeysuckle swung buff trumpets from the vine about the windows.
"You are, for one thing, if you don't moderate your voice," said Anastacio. "Nueces, you bellow like the bulls of Bashan. Mr. Applegate, meet Mr. Pringle." "What does he mean, then, by such monkeyshines?" demanded the other old Nueces River, chief of police, ex-ranger, and, for this occasion, deputy sheriff. "I got no time for foolishness. And you can't run no whizzer on me, Barela.
The name of Maud Applegate Blithers was appended to the statement, and it was dated Paris, August 29. Thereafter followed a lengthy description of the futile search for the young lady in Paris, and an interview with the local representatives of Mr. Blithers, all of whom declared that the signature was genuine, but refused to commit themselves further without consulting their employer.
"A fit shrine for devotion," murmured the Maestro, looking across at him, and then, turning, busied himself vigorously with the carving. It was a quite wonderful supper banquet would have been a more fitting name for it, the Sturgises thought. For such food was not seen on the little table at Applegate Farm.
They lived in serene ignorance of the fact that God, while he was about it, put Maud Applegate Blithers into the world on precisely the same day that the Crown Princess of Dawsbergen first saw the light of day.
At dawn next morning Abel passed again, driving in the direction of the Applegate road. The day was breaking clear and still, and over the autumnal pageantry in the abandoned fields, innumerable silver cobwebs shone iridescent in the sunrise. Squirrels were already awake, busily harvesting, and here and there a rabbit bobbed up from beneath a shelter of sassafras.
Ken stumbled into the open door of Applegate Farm at three the next morning. Felicia was asleep in a chair by the cold ashes of the fire. A guttering candle burned on the table. She woke instantly and stared at him with wide eyes. "What is it?" she said, and then sprang up. "Alone?" "Yes," Ken said. "Not yet. I'm going back in a little while.
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