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Updated: September 4, 2025
"She's gone, she's gone," he moaned and sobbed, over and over; and even Carder saw that if there had been any plot afoot the dwarf had not been in it. So long as the plane was in sight, all the farm-workers stared open-mouthed. None of them loved the master, but none dared comment on his fury now or ask a question. His gun was in his hand and his eyes were bloodshot. His open mouth worked.
Carder, under orders from her son, presented herself early with a tray on which were coffee and toast, and the girl had more than a twinge of compunction at being waited on by the worn, wrinkled old woman. "This is Sunday," she said. "I feel very tired.
"The woman has no spirit," she added mentally with some impatience. Mrs. Carder looked full in her eyes for a silent space; then: "Rufus can do anything he wants to anything," she whispered. Geraldine, in the act of wiping a coarse, thick dinner-plate, met the other's gaze with a little frown. "Don't give in to him, my dear," went on the sharp whisper. "You are too beautiful, too young.
My name is Rufus Carder you may have heard of it. Geraldine Melody belongs to me. Her father gave her to me." He turned back quickly to the girl, for Mrs. Barry's face warned him that his time was short. "You may have gone away against your will, Gerrie," he said. "It ain't too late to save your father. Come back with me now and there won't be a word said.
I'll do my accounts and see if I can take my mind off it." Meanwhile Geraldine with her escort was also on a moving train. A creeping train it seemed to her. Rufus Carder was trying to make himself agreeable. She strove with herself to give him credit for that. She had not lived to be a nineteen-year-old school girl without meeting attractive young men.
"Did he seem seem unhappy, Mrs. Carder?" "Well yes. He was a sort of an absent-minded man. Perhaps that was his way. Really, I don't know a thing about their business, Miss Melody." The addition was made in sudden panic because the girl had grasped both the wrinkled hands and was gazing searchingly into the old woman's face as if she would wring information out of her.
In mediæval England the manufacture of cloth from the wool of the great flocks of sheep which fed on the pasture lands of the monasteries and other great houses, was the chief industry of the nation. This trade of wool-weaving has given us many surnames, such as Woolmer, Woolman, Carder, Kempster, Towser, Weaver, Webster, etc.
"That I don't know, really. I was not interested; but I seem to remember hearing my son use your name. Lamson, is that you?" she added in the same tone. The chauffeur was standing at the door. "Yes, Mrs. Barry, you rang." "Show this man the way to the station, Lamson." Rufus Carder gave her one parting, vindictive look, and strode to the door.
Lots of us saw the plane, but the feller's story did sound fishy, and if the Sunburst that's our paper should print a lot o' stuff about Carder shootin' guns and foamin' at the mouth when he saw the girl he was goin' to marry fly up into the sky and't wa'n't so ye see, 't would go mighty hard with our editor." "Why didn't he send somebody right out to the farm to inquire?" asked Ben.
Carder gave her, and at an early hour laid an aching head on her pillow and slept fitfully through the night. A heavy rain began to fall and continued in the morning. She still felt singularly numb toward the world and life in general. Her own room was bad enough, but outside it was the bare landscape, the desolate house, and its vulgar host. Mrs.
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