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Updated: May 12, 2025
"You can take a little pat of it with you. I won't put no salt in it, and I'll send along a glass or two of my wild strawberry jam. It takes an awful time to pick the berries, but I guess it'll be appreciated after the table Jimmy sets. I don't believe Jimmy'll be offended?" "Bogardus is their name," continued Leander. "Mr. and Mrs. Bogardus, from New York.
Bogardus rose and shook out her skirts. "Will Chauncey bring my horse when it stops raining? By the way, did you get the furniture down that was in that room, Cerissa? the old secretary? I am going to have it put in order for Mr. Paul's room. Old furniture is the fashion now, you know." Cerissa caught her breath nervously. "Mrs. Bogardus I couldn't do a thing about it!
Adam Bogardus came as chore-boy to the farm, an only child himself, and sensitive through the clashing of gentle instincts with rough and inferior surroundings; brought up in that depressed God-fearing attitude in which a widow not strong, and earning her bread, would do her duty by an only son.
"Still, if we have such a thing in this country as class, then you and I do not belong to the same class except by virtue of Uncle Jacob's money. Confess you are glad I am a Bevier and a Broderick and a Van Elten, as well as a Bogardus." "I shall confess nothing of the kind.
Bogardus remarked dispassionately. "And he's not quite twenty-four." "Very true. Well, I should send him into the woods for the sake of getting a little sense into him, of an every-day sort. He 'll take in sanity with every breath." "And you don't think it's too late in the season for them to go out?" There was no change in Mrs.
'There is a reason for everything, he says. 'The miracles and ghosts of one generation are just school-book learning to the next; and more of a miracle than the miracles themselves." "Chauncey shows his sense," Mrs. Bogardus observed. "He was real disturbed, though, I could see; and he told me particular not to make any talk about it. I never have opened the subject to a living soul.
In the Old Colonie Christmas was the one great day of all the year for children. We did not have the Christmas tree, but we had the Bethlehem manger in the Dutch Reform Church at the foot of the high pulpit and dominie Bogardus told us the story of the Birthday of Our Lord in simple words which we could all understand.
But the familiar details of the loom-room cheered him on his way, the homely tools of his every-day work were like friendly faces nodding at him. He knocked loudly on the door above, and was answered by Mrs. Bogardus in her natural voice. "Bosh every bit of it bosh!" he repeated courageously. She was seated by the window in the chair with the green cushions.
His respect at that moment for Mrs. Bogardus, though founded on blindest conjecture, was an emotion which the mask of his professional manner could barely conceal. "As a friend, Mrs. Bogardus, I hope you will command me but you need no doctor here." "As a friend I ask you to believe me," she said. "This man is my husband. He came back here because this was his home.
The screws are rusted in solid. Want I should pry her out of the woodwork?" "No, don't do that," said Mrs. Bogardus. "Why should we spoil the panel? This seems a very comfortable room. My son is right. It would be foolish to tear it down. Such a place as this might be very useful if you people would get over your notions about it." "I never had no notions," Chauncey asserted.
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