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Updated: June 8, 2025
I wouldn't think of asking you," spoke Alice quickly, but she looked out into the dark, and she didn't feel very happy, even if she had just eaten a large plate of butternut ice cream. "Couldn't you stay all night, my dear?" asked Sister Sallie's mother. "No, I'm afraid my mamma would worry," replied Alice.
But no sooner had we entered the town than we met a number of country people on horseback, with their wives and daughters ay, and sweethearts perched up behind them: the men mostly in butternut linsey hunting shirts and trousers, slouch hats, and red handkerchiefs stuck into their bosoms; the women marvellously pretty and fresh in stiff cotton gowns and Quaker hats, and some in crimped caps with ribbons neatly tied under the chin.
Jerrie read this note with wet eyes up in her room, and then passed it to Harold, to whom she told of that episode under the butternut tree, when Billy asked her to be his wife. 'Poor Billy!
Those you mention are all good; so are half a dozen more, the different kinds of ash, yellow-pine, butternut, white-wood, cherry, cedar, even hemlock and spruce in some situations. There are several important points to be religiously observed if you leave the wood, whatever the variety, in its unadorned beauty.
The various palm-trees give building materials, oil, wine, and other requisites too numerous to mention. The "five products of the cow" are ignored, as in the western hemisphere of yore: one of the most useful, however, is produced by the Nje or Njeve, a towering butyraceous tree, differing from that which bears the Shea butternut.
Harry looked in the direction of the voice. He saw a tall, slender, black-haired man standing in the woods at the upper edge of the cleared space. He was dressed in butternut jeans, and looked so much like the Rebels in front that Harry thought he was one of them. The stranger noticed his indecision, and called out again still more peremptorily: "Skeet outen thar, I tell ye! Skeet outen thar!
"I can climb to the top of the old butternut tree quicker than anybody else," cried Happy Jack Squirrel, and away he started with Bobby Coon and Billy Mink after him, for though Billy Mink is a famous swimmer and can run swiftly, he can also climb when he has to. But Happy Jack Squirrel was at the top of the old butternut tree almost before the others had started.
The upper half of the familiar butternut suit the coat still clung to him, but the middle and lower half had been supplanted by another waistcoat and trousers of faded nankeen, the first corrugated into wrinkles and the second flapping about his ankles. The colonel absorbed him at a glance, and with a satisfied air placed a chair for him near the window and handed him a palm-leaf fan.
But no sooner had we entered the town than we met a number of country people on horseback, with their wives and daughters ay, and sweethearts perched up behind them: the men mostly in butternut linsey hunting shirts and trousers, slouch hats, and red handkerchiefs stuck into their bosoms; the women marvellously pretty and fresh in stiff cotton gowns and Quaker hats, and some in crimped caps with ribbons neatly tied under the chin.
He would look out through the thick Hemlock tops, the blots of Basswood green or the criss-cross Butternut leafage and say: "My own, my own." Or down by some pool in the limpid stream he would sit and watch the arrowy Shiners and say: "You are mine, all; you are mine. You shall never be harmed or driven away."
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