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Updated: May 13, 2025
He picked it up, and says he: "'Hatburn, I got Government mail on that stage to get in under contract, and there's a passenger too paid to Crabapple; but when I get them two things done I'm coming back to kill you two dead to hear the last trumpet. "The one on the hoe laughed; but the other picked up a stone like my two fists and let Allen have it in the back.
Before Allen reached home he had to feed and bed his horses, and walk back the two miles over the mountain from Crabapple; and a full hour before the time for his brother's arrival, David was surprised to see the stage itself making its way over the precarious turf road that led up to the Kinemons' dwelling.
One morning he descended the stairs, a sort of dressing-case in hand, and yelled to an urchin at the door: "Here, you son of a sea-calf, take this down to the waterside for me!" "Will he understand you?" I said. "Bound to," Mr. Crabapple replied; "never talk to them any other way, anyhow. 'Tis their business to understand. Ta, ta deuce of a hurry." "Where are you going, may I ask?"
It happened that the very next day Kit decided that it was high time to garner in the crabapple crop and start making jelly. The best trees around Greenacres were up on the old Cynthy Allen place. While the house had burned down the year before, still Cynthy's fruit trees were famous all over Gilead and Mr. Robbins had bought up the crop in advance from her.
Ferret was like a crabapple, and her mother like a Bartlett pear. But she was too much excited to stay long in one place, and so she hurried home and went to talking to Cousin Isa, who was sewing by the west window. And to her she poured forth praises of Albert without stint; of his immense knowledge of everything, of his goodness and his beauty and his strength, and his voice, and his eyes.
So, when I furnished the cream for the donation picnic at Crabapple Grove in strawberry time, I went prepared to see myself discarded by my love. She was there, and I had not overestimated her coldness toward me. Buck Gowdy came for only a few minutes, and these he spent eating ice-cream with Elder Thorndyke, with Virginia across the table from him, looking at her in that old way of his.
But my great distraction was a strange character I met at dinner at the house of the British Consul. I did not catch his name at our introduction, so I mentally named him Mr. Crabapple. He was short and stout, had a round wizened face freckled to the fuscous tint of a russedon apple, and was endowed with a voice which had all the husky sonority of a greengrocer's.
On the evening after Hunter Kinemon's burial in the rocky steep graveyard above Crabapple, David and his mother sat, one on the couch, the other in her creaking rocking-chair, lost in heavy silence. Allen moved in a perpetual uneasy pain on the bed, his face drawn and fretful, and shadowed by a soft young beard.
It seemed to David a long way from the valley, from Allen broken in bed, to the next term of court September in Crabapple. The Kinemons could protect, revenge, their own. The doctor passed out, and David entered where his mother was bent above her elder son. Hunter Kinemon, with a blackened rag, was wiping the lock of an old but efficient repeating rifle. His motions were unhurried, careful. Mrs.
Panic seized him, utter misery, at the thought of what Priest, Crabapple, would say. He would be disgraced, contemptuously dismissed a failure in the trust laid on him. He collected his faculties by a violent effort; the bags, he was sure, had been safe coming down the last mountain; he had walked part of the way, and he was certain that he would have noticed anything wrong.
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