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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Did you have any breakfast?" the Count asked, smiling. "Yes," Beth answered. "What did you have?" "Milk and hot water and dry toast. I made the toast myself." "No butter?" "No. The butter's running short, so I wouldn't take any." "When do you lunch?" "Oh, we don't lunch. Can't afford it, you know. The boys have got to be educated, and Uncle James Patten won't help, though Jim's his heir."
Egremont was listening with actual interest and sympathy to the history of Betsy Butter's struggles, and was inquiring the way to her cottage, when she was called off to be introduced to the arrivals who were beginning to flood the lawn. She presently saw May, who had just come down, walking up and down with Mrs. Edwards, evidently hearing the story of the handkerchief.
Sit down, child, and be easy, for you shan't stir out till you've had a cup o' tea, and so I tell you." During the latter part of this speech, Mrs. "Molly," she said, rather languidly, "just run out and get me a bunch of dock-leaves: the butter's ready to pack up now." "D' you hear what's happened, Hetty?" said her aunt. "No; how should I hear anything?" was the answer, in a pettish tone.
I tell you the eggs and the butter's mighty fresh this morning." "Oh, sho, chile," said Linda, "I can't read de newspapers, but ole Missus' face is newspaper nuff for me. I looks at her ebery mornin' wen she comes inter dis kitchen. Ef her face is long an' she walks kine o' droopy den I thinks things is gwine wrong for dem.
"So you are going to take care of me as if I were a small boy?" "You need care sometimes." He soon came back and asked, "Now may I stay?" "Yes. Please untie the dog. Butter's come." "I should think it would, or anything else at your coaxing." "Oh-h, what a speech! Hasn't that a pretty golden hue?" she asked, holding up a mass of the butter she was ladling from the churn into a wooden tray.
"Glad of that," answered the new settler, cheerily, and, with a glance at the handle of the dasher, "I think that butter's come." IT was just a week later when she rode south and took charge of the school. The day was full of joy and misgivings.
Butter's fruit cake. One thing was a great relief, to me at least: Flora Clark did not know the true story of her jumbles until some time afterward. Mrs. White told her that the pail had been upset and they were broken, and we were all so sorry; and she did not suspect. We were glad to avoid a meeting between her and Mrs. Jameson, for none of us felt as if we could endure it then.
They had seldom seen him eat so heartily at any table but his own, and never before known him so little disconcerted by the melted butter's being oiled.
"That's the butter's pantry," she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "Don't they keep nothing in it but butter?" gasped Lovey Mary. "Reckon not. They've got a great big box jes fer ice; not another thing goes in it." Another maid ran down the steps, calling Simmons. Asia, a frequent visitor at the house, made her way unconcernedly up to the nursery.
"There's a Jersey bull to the geart farm to Grey Caunce, maister," she told Ishmael, "and I've heard tell there's nothen but Jerseys there, and the butter's the best in the country and fetches most to market. Many's the time I've said I could make as good if I'd only got cream hangin' in riches like them has got."
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