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Updated: May 17, 2025
The old miller, declaring to himself that, though his child had shamed him, he would not deny her now that she was again one of the family, acknowledged so much, but refused the constable admittance to the house. "But, Mr. Brattle," said the constable, "she was subpoenaed." "I know now't o' that," answered the miller, not deigning to turn his face round to his antagonist. "But you know, Mr.
The gentlemen returned late in the evening, and the Squire dressed at the vicarage. But the great event of the day had to be told before anyone was allowed to dress. Between four and five o'clock, just as the magistrates were going to leave the bench, Sam Brattle had walked into Court. "And your money is safe?" said his wife. "Yes, my money is safe; but, I declare, I think more of Sam's truth.
Gilmore saw them that night down at the churchyard corner, they were prowling about with a view of seeing how they could get into the farmer's house, and not into the Vicarage. Frank thinks that when he afterwards found them in our place, Sam Brattle had brought them in with a kind of wild idea of taking the fruit, but that the men, of their own account, had come round to reconnoitre the house.
Then were let loose against the unfortunate clergyman the floodgates of a drunken woman's angry tongue. It was not only that the landlady of the Three Honest Men was very drunk, but also that she was very angry. Sam Brattle and his sister had been there, but they had been turned out of the house.
"Now, my lord, will you allow me for a moment?" said Mr. Fenwick. "In the first place, if Sam Brattle could not find a home at the mill, which I hope he will do for many a long year to come, he should have one at the Vicarage." "I dare say," said the Marquis. Mr. Puddleham held up both hands. "You might as well hold your tongue, Frank," said Gilmore.
But, as a matter of fact, so she swore over and over again, she had never told him a word about old Trumbull's box. She did not think she had ever told any one; but she would swear on her death-bed that she had never told Sam Brattle. The head constable declared that he had never met a more stubborn or a more artful young woman.
Then he stopped, and there was a pause. The miller puffed his pipe, but said not a word. "I do want him. I fear, Mr. Brattle, he's not coming to much good." "Who said as he was? I never said so. The lad'd have been well enough if other folks would have let him be." "I know what you mean, Mr. Brattle." "I usually intend folks to know what I mean, Muster Fenwick. What's the good o' speaking else?
Well, that's the style Jeff said it was; it's all pillars and pilasters; and you ride up to the office through a double row of colyums, under a kind of a portico. It's all painted like them old Colonial houses down on Brattle Street, buff and white. Well, it made me think of one of them old pagan temples.
William Brattle of Cambridge, to visit them. He was always a known opponent of Cotton Mather. To have selected him to come to them, in their distress and destitution, indicates the views then prevalent in the Village. He went to them and guided them by his advice, until they obtained a new Minister. The mention of the fact by Mr.
George Brattle had retired to her parlour, and the kitchen was in the hands of the maid-servant. He followed the lady, however, and found that she had been at the trouble, since he had seen her last, of putting on a clean cap on his behalf. He began at once, jumping again into the middle of things by a reference to her husband. "Mrs.
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