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Updated: June 8, 2025
Henry, when you came so unceremoniously upon us, we were speaking of a young girl in Chicopee whom you have perhaps ferreted out ere this, as Bender says she is fine looking." Henry stroked his whiskers, which had received far more cultivation than his brains, stuck his hat on one side, and answered.
This was in the morning, and the afternoon train had carried Mrs. Dr. Van Buren to Chicopee, where Ethelyn's glowing face flashed a bright welcome when she came, but was white and pallid as the face of a corpse when the voluminous skirts of Mrs. Van Buren's poplin dress passed through the gate next day and disappeared in the direction of the depot.
But he could not. He was too much a man of the world to speak to her of death, he would leave that for her grandmother; so without answering her question, he said, "Rose, do you think you are able to be moved into the country?" "What, to Chicopee? that horrid dull place! I thought we were not going there this summer." "No, not to Chicopee, but to your grandma Howland's, in Glenwood.
His mode of expressing himself had never suited Ethelyn. Particular, and even elegant in her choice of language, it grated upon her sensitive ear, and forgetting that she had all her life heard similar expressions in Chicopee, she charged it to the West, and Iowa was blamed for the faults of her son more than she deserved.
Townsend, who came in May for a day at Davenport, recommended him strongly to try what Clifton Springs, in Western New York, could do for him the Clifton, whose healing waters and wonderful power to cure were famed from the shores of the Atlantic to the Californian hills. The weather in Chicopee that spring was as capricious as the smiles of the most spoiled coquette could ever be.
"Bender from Chicopee," repeated Ida. "Why I wonder if it isn't the Billy Bender about whom Jenny Lincoln has gone almost mad." "I think not," returned her cousin, "for Mrs. Lincoln would hardly suffer her daughter to mention a poor boy's name, much less to go mad about him." "But," answered Ida, "he worked on Mr.
"How is the Chicopee & Shamrock reorganization coming on?" asked Hastings, striving to be polite by suggesting a congenial subject for conversation. "I don't know," I retorted. "I've forgotten all about it until Monday morning. On the other hand, how are your children coming on?" "Sylvia is out gathering chestnuts," answered Mrs. Hastings, "and Tom is playing football. They'll be home directly.
You are quiet, and gentle, and pure like her, and I am so glad of the Providence which led me to Chicopee. They said I was looking for a wife, but I had no such idea. I never thought to marry until I met you that afternoon when you wore the pretty delaine, with the red ribbon in your hair. Do you remember it, Ethelyn?" Ethelyn did not answer him at once.
Campbell had taken her, and finding that nothing there had power to rouse her drooping energies, she had, towards the close of the summer, brought her back to Chicopee, hoping that old scenes and familiar faces would effect what novelty and excitement had failed to do. All unworthy as Henry Lincoln had been, his sad death had cast a dark shadow across Ella's pathway.
Of course I can never like Nettie as I have liked you, and I feel a twinge every time I remember the dear old times. But what must be must, and there's no use fretting. Do you remember old Colonel Markham's nephew from out West the one who wore the short pants and the rusty crape on his hat when he visited his uncle, in Chicopee, some years ago?
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