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Updated: June 18, 2025
''Tis Bunyan's book, The Pilgrim's Progress. Father give Deb and me a copy each when we were fifteen years old, and we have read it every Sunday afternoon since. We don't always get very far, for 'tis a sleepy time in the afternoon, but a page or two is always edifyin' and improvin' to the soul! 'It's a lovely book! said Elfie enthusiastically; 'you must know it nearly by heart.
"You'd never survive the two, should you?" "Well, you know, Jan, it's a good mile and a half to Pidcock's, and I had to go to the other place without my tea," remonstrated Master Cheese. "I dare say Miss Deb has given you your tea since you came home." "But it's not like having it at the usual hour. And I couldn't finish it in comfort, when this message came."
Remember the Thanksgiving sermon about forgiveness and loving your neighbors." "Oh, it's all well enough to love your neighbor, but there 's no necessity for taking down the fence. Arthur treated me like a step-child, and " "But, Checkers dear, we want Aunt Deb. and Mr. Kendall at the wedding. They won't come unless Arthur does, and Arthur won't come unless you make up with him.
The foundation of the scheme was a costly "suite", upholstered in palish silk brocade, the separate pieces standing at fixed intervals apart on a gorgeous Axminster carpet. When Deb entered the room, Mr Goldsworthy was bending over the central sofa, excited and talking loudly. Miss Goldsworthy and Mary stood by, mute and drooping; Ruby looked on irresponsibly, with joy in her eye.
So home and to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon got my wife and boy to read to me, and at night W. Batelier comes and sups with us; and, after supper, to have my head combed by Deb., which occasioned the greatest sorrow to me that ever I knew in this world, for my wife, coming up suddenly, did find me embracing the girl . . . . I was at a wonderful loss upon it, and the girle also, and I endeavoured to put it off, but my wife was struck mute and grew angry, and so her voice come to her, grew quite out of order, and I to say little, but to bed, and my wife said little also, but could not sleep all night, but about two in the morning waked me and cried, and fell to tell me as a great secret that she was a Roman Catholique and had received the Holy Sacrament, which troubled me, but I took no notice of it, but she went on from one thing to another till at last it appeared plainly her trouble was at what she saw, but yet I did not know how much she saw, and therefore said nothing to her.
"It was so horrid of me," she said, with a long face, "but, anyhow, I will come to tea." "No, dear, not to-day," returned Mrs. Broderick, quietly. "To-morrow Deb and I will be delighted to welcome you. And Deb shall bake some shortbread and scones. Marcus might come too, it is long since I saw him." "But why not to-day, dear Aunt Madge?" persisted Olivia, rather curiously.
"My husband may be a draper," Rose had often said, "but I'll trouble you to show me a duke with a handsomer family." Mentally, Deb compared the cool, flower-petal cheeks of her Breen nieces with her Goldsworthy nephew's mouth, covering those unpleasant teeth. It would have been fairer to compare him with her Breen nephews, but there the contrast would have been nearly as great.
Aunt Deb and Mr Butterfield came by, tripping it lightly, holding each other's hands, he in a bob wig with a sword by his side, she in high-heeled red shoes and a cap decked with flowers and ribbons. She smiled and ogled, as if about to dance a minuet. I almost laughed as I saw them, they appeared so vivid and real.
"I'd have risked my own life to do so, sir," answered Gerald; and he explained more fully all that had taken place. "I must go on board and make inquiries about the affair!" exclaimed the admiral. "Deb, help me on with my greatcoat." "Pray don't think of going, admiral; it is too late in the day, and you are not fit for such a walk," said the old lady, without moving from her chair.
"I can't," yawned Mr Dalzell casually, "stand a person who eats curry with a knife and fork." "It was pretty tough, that curry. I expect he couldn't get it to pieces with a spoon." "He did not try to." "I never noticed. I shouldn't remember to notice a little trifle like that." "My dear girl, it is the little trifle that marks the man." "Oh!" said Deb.
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