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Updated: May 31, 2025
I don't suppose even Shandon would attempt to carry that great child that far, cracked as she seems to be!" "I don't suppose we could drive home down by the marsh road?" Johnnie asked. Mrs. Dinwoodie looked horrified. "Johnnie, are you crazy yourself?" she demanded. "Why, child, Mary's going to be married at half-past seven, and there's the five-o'clock train now."
"Not a speck!" answered Mary Bell, bravely, as she kissed her. "Bernie and Johnnie going married women!" said the old lady, sleepily. "I never heard such nonsense! Don't you go out of call, will you, dear?" Mary Bell was eating her own supper, ten minutes later, when the train whistled, and she ran, breathless, to the road, to meet Lew Dinwoodie.
Min'd slam the door in your face if she did nothing worse. She hates ministers and everything that's good. She hasn't darkened a church door for years. She never had any religious tendency to begin with, and when there was such a scandal about her, old Mr. Dinwoodie, our pastor then a godly man, Mr.
There was nothing for it, then, but to wait for Lew Dinwoodie and the news from Aunt Mat. Mary Bell walked slowly back through the fragrant lanes, passed now and then by a surrey loaded with joyous passengers already bound for Pitcher's barn. She was at her own gate, when a voice calling her whisked her about as if by magic. "Hello, Mary Bell!" said Jim Carr, joining her.
Johnnie Larabee came downstairs with Grandpa and Grandma Arnold, and Rosamund Dinwoodie at the piano said audibly, "Now, Johnnie?" There was expectant silence in the parlors. The whole house was so silent in that waiting moment that the sound of sudden feet on the porch and the rough opening of the hall door were a startlingly loud interruption.
She could distinguish a woman's moving figure, a mere speck on the road far below. "Sure it is," said she. "Carryin' Dan, too." "My goo'ness," said Johnnie, uneasily, "I wish she wouldn't take them crazy walks. I don't suppose she's walking up to town?" "I don't know why she should," said Mrs. Dinwoodie, dryly, "with the horses she's got.
You telephone me six hundred words on this thing inside of an hour. No frills you understand. Just give me the straight facts. We'll fix the yarn up here." "For mercy's sakes, here comes Shandon Waters!" said Jane Dinwoodie, of the post-office, leaving her pigeonholes to peer through the one small window of that unpretentious building.
Cass Dinwoodie were high up on the wet hills, gathering cream-colored wild iris for the Dickey wedding that night. "And serve her right, too!" said Mrs. Dinwoodie, severely. "A great girl like that lettin' fly like a child." "She's she's jest the kind to go crazy, brooding as she does," Mrs. Larabee submitted, almost timidly.
Jane Dinwoodie and Mary Dickey could well remember the day she was brought into the district school, her mutinous black eyes gleaming under a shock of rough hair, her clumsy little apron tripping her with its unaccustomed strings. The lonely child had been frantic for companionship, and her direct, even forceful attempts at friendship had repelled and then amused the Deaneville children.
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