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Updated: May 17, 2025
They walked down the sandy pathway, and came unexpectedly upon Elsie and her lover sitting behind a rock. They asked where the others were. Elsie did not know. But at that moment voices were heard, and Cissy cried from the bottom of the glade: 'So there you are; we've been looking for you. 'Looking for us indeed, said Mildred. Now, Mildred, don't be prudish, this is Liberty Hall.
From the bottom of their clothes-box, Cissy brought a paper-wrapped scrapbook of Bible pictures she had cut and pasted. Tom had made a table out of a crate, but there wasn't room to fetch it. "I got so fat and strong," boasted Cissy, punching her thin chest with a bony fist.
"Little Cissy, He must be thy Father now." And looking upwards, he said, "Lord, take the charge that I give into Thine hands this night! Be Thou the Father to these fatherless little ones, and lead them forth by a smooth way or a rough, so it be the right way, whereby they shall come to Thy holy hill, and to Thy tabernacle.
"Ho, ho, ho! Miss Cissy," laughed he; "you're getting extremely familiar to address me like that. Jolly, indeed! why, that's my name, ho, ho!"
Elsie and Cissy she knew would eat everything, they were never without their appetites, but Mildred very often said she could eat nothing. Then Catherine would come to the rescue with a tempting suggestion, Une belle aile de poulet avec sauce remoulade. 'Well, perhaps I could pick a bone, Mildred would answer, and these wings of chicken seemed to her the best she had ever eaten.
In fact, Cissy was as much embarrassed as she was flattered by the company of this distinguished stranger. However, it would be known to all West Woodland that he had walked home with her, while nobody but herself would know that they had scarcely exchanged a word. She noticed how he lounged on with a heavy, rolling gait, sometimes a little before or behind her as the path narrowed.
"I rather think it is me; don't you?" "Yes, but you are not she that spake to us on the road," said Cissy. "Somebody told us to call here as we went down the lane, and her daughter should go home with us, and help us to carry the big jar. Perhaps you're the daughter?" "Well, I guess I am," answered Rose. "Where's home?" "It's at the further end of Thorpe." "All right.
Would you believe that people are trying to take away my daughter's character? It's Cissy 'Iggins's doing: I'm sure of it, though I haven't brought it 'ome to her yet. I dropped in to see some friends of ours I shouldn't wonder if you know the name; it's Mrs. Jolliffe, a niece of Mr. Baxter Baxter, Lukin and Co., you know.
Cissy, as grandmother, felt that she must prove, even to herself, that she was not yet a back number. With this rift in the lute of their budding romance, they ate and drank and went to the play and had what might otherwise have been an enchanted ride home in the moonlight. But when Landry said "Good-night" Cissy felt the loss of something in his manner.
I don't care to give him the hint myself; he is a little queer sometimes." "He owes it to his position," said Miss Cissy Levine. "That is what we think," said Mrs. Henry Goldsmith, with the majestic manner that suited her opulent beauty. "I wish we had him in our synagogue," said Raphael. "Michaels is a well-meaning worthy man, but he is dreadfully dull." "Poor Raphael!" said Sidney.
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