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Updated: May 20, 2025
If I keep my tongue still, I do not talk myself into trouble. Not so, Berta?" The pippin-cheeked little woman nodded her head sagely. In the course of the next few days Roy rode to and fro over the park trying to sell his windmill to the ranchers. He secured two orders and the tentative promise of others. But he gained no clue as to the place where Dingwell was hidden.
She's waiting. I've stayed too long. She'll be so angry!" "Let her," growled Berta; but Laura had fled. Meanwhile Lucine when left alone had dropped the sheets of her essay in her lap and planting her elbows on the sill crouched forward, staring miserably out at the brown soaked lawn flecked with sodden snowdrifts in the shadows of the evergreens that were bending before a rollicking March wind.
Berta watched her with a wavering expression that veered from wrathful amusement to uneasy reflectiveness. Was it really true that she dressed so untidily as this little scamp made out? Perhaps she did slight details once in a while, but though not scrupulously dainty like Lila, still she tried to be neat enough on the whole.
Poor Picotee, more agitated than her sister, but never questioning her orders, went downstairs and out of the house. She ran across the shrubberies, into the park, and to the gate whereat Sol had emerged some half-hour earlier. She trotted along upon the turnpike road like a lost doe, crying as she went at the new trouble which had come upon Berta, whatever that trouble might be.
"'To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow drags out its weary course from day to day," she quoted with mindless cheerfulness, only to interrupt herself good naturedly, "say, Berta, do you realize that the third to-morrow aforementioned is April Fool's Day? I wish something interesting would happen. This is the most monotonous place in vacation."
There is something not without grandeur in the thought of starvation on an open mountain or in a wide wood, and your bones lying there to bleach in the pure sun and rain; but a back garret in a rookery, and the other starvers in the room insisting on keeping the window shut anything to deliver us from that! 'How gloomy you can be, Berta! It will never be so dreadful.
Her pen went scratching in a mad zigzag across the neat page and deposited a big tear of red ink where it suddenly stopped. "Oh, I'm sorry," exclaimed Bea repentantly, for she was indeed the culprit; "it's horrid to be heedless on purpose. I didn't know it would really do any harm." Berta glanced up quickly from her blotter.
I was thinking about Picotee, and what would be the best thing to do 'Ah, well you may, Berta. I am so uneasy about this life you have led us into, and full of fear that your plans may break down; if they do, whatever will become of us?
There is another commander under Baatu-khan, called Berta or Berca, who pastures his flocks towards the Iron-gate, or Derbent, through which lies the passage of all the Saracens or Mahometans who come from Persia and Turkey, to pay their gifts and tributes to Baatu, and who make presents to Berta in their way.
She found that Bea had usurped her place at the head, but forgot to object in the confusion of being greeted with: "Heigho, Berta, what's happened?" "You're spick and span enough for a party." "Are you going to town this afternoon?" "Young ladies!" Berta ignored the warm color that she felt rising slowly under her dark skin, "I am astonished at your manners.
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