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Updated: May 8, 2025
Lem heeded him not; did not stop there as usual, but drove straight to the tannery house and pulled up under the butternut tree. Milly Skinner ran out on the porch, and gave one long look, and cried: "Good Lord, it's Cynthy!" "Where's Jethro?" demanded Lem. Milly did not answer at once. She was staring at Cynthia. "He's in the tannery shed," she said, "choppin' wood."
It was not a bear at all. It was a man. He was dressed, as I was, in a union suit, and his face and hands, like mine, were stained a butternut brown. His hair was long and matted and two weeks' stubble of beard was on his face. For a minute we both glared at one another, still growling. Then the man rose up to a standing position with a muttered exclamation of disgust. "Ah, cut it out," he said.
"Oh, how can I get some good butter for Nurse Jane?" asked the bunny uncle sadly. "Ha! I will give you some," spoke a voice high in the air. "Who are you?" asked Uncle Wiggily, startled. "I am the butternut tree," was the answer. "I'll drop some nuts down and all you will have to do will be to crack them, pick out the meats and squeeze out the butter.
"You'll have to excuse my grinnin', Mr. Gwynne," interrupted the other. "I didn't mean any offence. It's jest that we ain't used to good clothes an' servants to pull our boots off an' on, an' butternut pants an' so on. We're 'way out here on the edge of the wilderness where bluejeans is as good as broadcloth or doe-skin, an' a chaw of tobacco is as good as the state seal fer bindin' a bargain.
She walked quietly into the entry, and Josiah laid his old hands together in the rapturous certainty that she was going to open the door, and send her anger forth. But Amelia only took down his butternut coat from the nail, and returned with it, holding it ready for him to insert his arms. "Here's your coat," said she, with that strange, deceptive calmness. "Stan' up, an' I'll help you put it on."
Their eyes were upon the far end of the deep lot, where, at the edge of one of the pieces of woodland spoken of, a picturesque group of men and boys, in frocks and broad-brimmed white hats, were busied in filling their wagon under a clump of the now thin and yellow-leaved butternut trees. "The scoundrel!" said Mr. Ringgan, under his breath.
But it was also understood that this invasion would be resisted by the Bar to its last man. All eyes were turned upon a fringe of laurel and butternut that encroached upon the road half a mile away, where it seemed that such of the inhabitants who were missing from the bluff were hidden to give warning or retard the approach of the posse.
The parlor had what was called a flowered-carpet or gay pattern of ingrain on its floor, and the other rooms had rag-carpets, woven by some woman who had a loom for the work, and dyed at home with such native tints as butternut and foreign colors as logwood. The rooms were all heated with fireplaces, where wood was burned, and coal was never seen.
I tell you, he's a brick." "O we're going over the bridge now, Norton!" Matilda exclaimed. "We're almost there. Look! I can see lights, can't I?" There was no question about it in a few minutes more. Norton got out at the Shadywalk hotel; and the omnibus lumbered on through Butternut Street to the parsonage gate and drew up at last before the old brown door. But it was too dark to see colours.
"Well, youngster," he said, smiling, "don't they clothe you in the regulars? You're as eccentric as our butternut friends yonder." "I couldn't buy a full uniform," she said truthfully. She did not add that she had left at a minute's notice for the most dangerous undertaking ever asked of her, borrowing discarded makeshifts anywhere at hazard. "Are you a West Pointer?" "No." "Oh!
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