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Updated: May 13, 2025
"We might some of us have overwork, I should think; shouldn't you?" she asked, blandly, of Miss Bree. Aunt Blin smiled. "They've been squabbling over it these five minutes," she replied. Aunt Blin was sure of some particular finishing, that none could do like her precise old self. Kate Sencerbox jumped up impatiently, reaching over for some fringe.
You couldn't do any hurt to it, if 'twas made for a queen," responded Aunt Blin. "I'll do up my hair on the top of my head," said Bel. And forthwith, at the far end of the room, away from the delicate robe and its scattered material, she got out her combs and brushes, and let down her gleaming brown hair.
He preferred his milk condensed in this way; he got very little of it in the fluid form, and did not think very highly of it when he did. He knew what was good, Aunt Blin said. He understood conversation; especially moral lectures and admonitions; Miss Bree had talked to him precisely as if he had a soul, for five years.
Bartholomew was quiet enough for a minute; he must have his cat-pleasure of crouching and creeping; he must wait till nobody looked. He knew very well what he was about. But the tail trembled still; the green eyes were still wild and eager. "The kindlings are in the left-hand closet, you know," said Aunt Blin, with a big pin in her mouth, and settling her shoulders into her shawl.
All the better for that; the rockers were not in the way; and all Aunt Blin had wanted of it as a sewing chair, was to tip conveniently, as she might wish to bend and reach, to pick up scissors or spool, or draw to herself any of those surroundings of part, pattern, or material, which are sure, at the moment one wants them to be on the opposite side of the table.
I have a secret sorrow gnawing at my 'inards, as you term those organs which keep people awake o' nights, gazing at the moon." "Yes, honey, Aun' Sheba gittin' bery ole an' bery blin', but she see dat dere's sump'in out ob kilter wid de inards ob you bofe. Well, well, I s'pose it's none ob de ole woman's business."
Down stairs ran Aunt Blin; she came up more slowly, bringing the great Bartholomew in her arms, and treading on her petticoats all the way. Straight up to the square table she walked, where Bel had set down her bird-cage, with the newspaper pinned over it. Aunt Blin pulled the paper off with one hand, holding Bartholomew fast under the other arm.
Aunt Blin, dear old simple, kindly-hearted Aunt Blin, who believed cats and birds, her cat and bird, at least, might be thrown trustfully into each other's company, if only she impressed it sufficiently upon the quadruped's mind from the beginning, that the bird was "very, very precious," thought Mr. Hewland was "such a nice young man." And so he was.
It was not a dress to be hurried with; every quill and gather of its trimming must be "set just so;" and there was still one flounce to be made, and these others were only basted, as also the corsage. After the hours were up that afternoon, Miss Tonker called Aunt Blin aside. She uncovered the large white box in which it lay, unfinished. "You have a nice room, Miss Bree.
We shall have two hours' work or more, on this, if we don't hurry; and it's miserable to hurry!" They stitched on, comfortably enough; yet the sleeves were finished sooner than she expected. Before nine o'clock, Aunt Blin was sewing them in. Then Bel wanted a drink of water; then they could not both get at the waist together; there was no need.
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