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Updated: June 6, 2025
Look at this Arab lily; it is like a tongue of fire." "Where does she keep her flowers?" "In wire baskets, in her room. But I must go to make Arthur some gingerbread. He likes mine the best, and I like to please him." "I dare say you spoil him." "Just as you were spoiled." "Not in Barmouth, Aunt Merce." "No, not in Barmouth, Cassy." I went from room to room, seeing little to interest me.
When I reached the ground beneath, I discovered that she was joined by another person whom, in an instant, I recognized to be the old gentleman I had seen with her at Barmouth, and who in the most courteous manner apologized for the trouble I had been caused, and informed me that a party of his friends were enjoying a little picnic quite near, and invited me to make one of them.
It is my sister's, and we were named by our great-grandfather, who married a Somers, a hundred years ago." Miss Black, my Barmouth teacher, came into my mind, for I had said the same thing to her in my first interview; but I was recalled from my wandering by Mr. Somers asking, "Are you looking for your sister?
They never thought of inquiring into that matter, so they opposed, with great promptness, father's wish to marry Mary Warren. All, except old Locke Morgeson, his grandfather, who rode over to Barmouth to see her one day, and when he came back told father to take her, offered him half his house to live in, and promised to push him in the world.
Have they heard of my father, who is equal to the President?" "We are all equal in the sight of God." "You do not look as if you thought so, Aunt Mercy. Why do you say things in Barmouth you never said in Surrey?" "Come downstairs, Cassandra, and help me finish the dishes." Our conversation was ended; but I still had my thoughts on the clothes question, and revolved my plans.
Father offered to take me to ride, when he came to Barmouth, or carry me to Milford; but the motion of the carriage, and the conveying power of the horse, created such a fearful and realizing sense of escape, that I gave up riding with him.
He firmly resisted me. Once a month, I should go home and spend a Sunday, if I chose, and he would come to Barmouth every week. My agitation and despair clouded his face for a moment, then it cleared, and pinching my chin, he said, "Why don't you look like your mother?" "But she is like her mother," said Aunt Merce. "Well, Cassy, good-by"; and he gave me a kiss with cruel nonchalance.
In one of the shops I heard a familiar voice, which gave me a thrill of anger. I turned and saw Charlotte Alden, of Barmouth, the girl who had given me the fall on the tilt. She could not control an expression of surprise at the sight of the well-dressed woman before her. It was my dress that astonished her. Where could I have obtained style? "Miss Alden, how do you do?
You are learning how she lived at your age. I trembled at the prosperity of your opening life, and believed it best for you to have a period of contrast. I thought you would, by and by, understand me better than I do myself; for you are not like me, Cassy, you are like your father. You shall never go back to Barmouth, unless you wish it. Dear Cassy, do you pray any?
This mighty mountain is the birthplace of more than one river. If the Gerres issues from its eastern side, from its western springs the Maw, that singularly picturesque stream, which enters the ocean at the place which the Saxons corruptly call Barmouth and the Cumry with great propriety Aber Maw, or the disemboguement of the Maw.
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