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Updated: May 21, 2025
I saw them fussing with the little girl, and I saw it, and then I didn't stay any longer." "What was it, Bobaday?" "I don't know," he solemnly replied. "Yes, but what did it look like?" Her nephew stared doubtingly upon her. "Will you holler if I tell you?" Aunt Corinne went through an impressive pantomime of deeding and double-deeding herself not to holler.
Bobaday pounced upon her with such force when he appeared once more, that she was startled into trying to climb a bush no higher than herself. He had not a word to say, but hitched his aunt to his jacket and drew her away with considerable haste. They floundered over logs and ran against stumps.
"That's the daughter of the biggest stock man around here," said the toll-woman, returning, and passing over aunt Corinne's question. "She goes to college, but it don't make a simpleton of her. She always has a smile and a pleasant word. Her folks are real good friends of mine. They knew our folks in Ohio." "And did he come right in and grab you?" urged Bobaday, keeping to the main narrative.
Aunt Krin, there was a little pretty girl in that wagon that I do believe the folks stole!" This was like a story. The luxury of a real stolen child had never before come in aunt Corinne's way. "Why, Bobaday?" she inquired affectionately.
Far as the eye can see in one direction, it's prairie. On the other side is woods. The house is better than the old one. I had to build, and I built pretty substantial. Your grandma's growing old. She'll need comforts in her old age, and we must put them around her, my man." Bobaday thought about this home to which he and his family were to grow as trees grasp the soil.
They are refrigerators for pure air; and they keep a mellow light of their own. When you go into one of them it seems as if the house were standing on its head to express its joy and comfort. But the Susan House cellar was one of dread, aside from the noise proceeding out of it. Bobaday knew this before they opened a door upon a narrow-throated descent. One of Zene's stories became vivid.
It was their notion of running away with the little girl, and their gettin' lost, that put me to such a worry:" Mrs. Tracy extended her hands to Bobaday and aunt Corinne, drawing one to each side of her, and made the most minute inquiries about Fairy Carrie.
The lawyer was coming up the log steps while Robert spoke of him. And with him was a lady who looked agitated, and whom he had to assist. Robert and Corinne, at the open sitting-room window, looked at each other with quick apprehension. "Aunt Krin, that's her mother," said aunt Krin's nephew. His young relative grasped his arm and exclaimed in an awe-struck whisper: "Bobaday Padgett!"
The night stage had got in three hours late, owing to a breakdown, and one calamity she said, is only the forerunner of another. Zene had driven ahead with the load. It was a foggy morning, and drops of moisture hung to the carriage curtains. There was the morning star yet trembling over the town. Aunt Corinne hugged her wrap, and Bobaday stuck his hands deep in his pockets.
It was a pleasure to Bobaday and aunt Corinne to ride into a town repeating its name to themselves and trying to fasten its identity on their minds. First they would pass a gang of laborers working on the road, or perhaps a man walking up and down telegraph poles with sharp-shod heels; then appeared humble houses with children playing thickly around them.
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