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Updated: May 13, 2025
Dodge, that downright ignorance is at the bottom of it all, for Dorindy says that they actually know no more of the intricacies of the neighbourhood than if they lived in Japan." "All pride, Mrs. Abbott; rank pride. They feel themselves too great to enter into the minutiae of common folks' concerns.
No; if she had that idee in her head, her talk with your ma would drive it out. 'Tain't charity, I ain't sayin' what 'tis. . . . I wonder how 'twould seem to be rich." "Lute, you're growing more foolish every day." "So Dorindy says; but she nor you ain't offered no proof yet. All right, you wait and see. And say, Ros, don't mention our talk to Dorindy.
'Why, Dorindy! I says, 'I'm a-goin' to wash them windows same's you told me to. 'No, you ain't, says she. 'But what will I do? says I. 'I don't care, says she. 'Clear out of here, that's all. 'But where'll I clear out to? I wanted to know. 'I don't care! she snaps again, savage as a settin' hen, 'so long's you clear out of my sight. So here I be.
"Why shouldn't he write to me?" I asked, tartly. "But but HIM writin' to YOU!" "Humph! Even a god stoops once in a while. Read your mythology, Lute." "Hey? Say, look here, what are you swearin' about?" "Swearing? Oh, that's all right. The god I referred to was a heathen one." "Well, it's a good thing Dorindy didn't hear you; she's down on swearin', heathen or any other kind. But what did Mr.
"Come back here this minute! Lute, come back!" Lute came, looking shamefaced and awkward. "Where were you going?" I demanded. "I I was cal'latin' to go and tell Dorindy," he faltered. "You'll tell nobody. Nobody, do you hear! I'll tell Dorinda myself, when it is necessary. What were you doing here? spying on me in that fashion." "I I wan't spyin', Ros. Honest truth, I wan't.
Dorindy says 'twas somethin' you found afloat in the bay. If it was somethin' belongin' to them Coltons I'd have took the money, no matter what the thing was wuth. They can afford to pay and, if I was you, I'd take the reward." "I have my reward. Now go." I had my reward and I believed it worth much more than five dollars. I had learned my lesson.
If the others don't want it, then they like to make 'em have it; anyhow. Dorindy is crazy on cleanin'. She wouldn't live in a dirty house no more'n she'd live in a lobster pot. It's the way she's made. But a hen ain't made that way. A hen LIKES dirt; she scratches in it and digs holes in it to waller in, and heaves it over herself all day long.
"Figgerin' whether I'd better begin here or over by the barn. Oh, it's you, Roscoe, is it! Land sakes! I thought first 'twas Dorindy. Where you bound?" "Up to the village," I said. "Ain't goin' to the post-office, be you?" "I may; I don't know." Lute sighed. "I was kind of cal'latin' to go there myself," he observed, regretfully.
He was walking fast fast for him, that is and seemed to be excited. His excitement, however, did not cause him to forget prudence. He looked carefully about to be sure his wife was not in sight, before he spoke. "Dorindy ain't been here sence I've been gone, has she?" was his first question. "I guess not," said I. "She has been in the house since I got back.
Well, you march out to the woodpile and chop till I tell you to quit." "But, Dorindy, I've got one of my dyspepsy spells. I don't feel real good this mornin'. I told you I didn't." "Folks that make pigs of themselves on stolen berries hadn't ought to feel good. Exercise is fine for dyspepsy. You march." Lute marched, and I marched with him as far as the back yard.
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