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Updated: June 21, 2025
Anyway, he bolted for his horse and vaulted into the saddle, galloping away as though pursued by something far more hurtful than a fat farm-wife's avalanche of vituperation. "Mussy on us!" cried the old woman, flinging her broom to the ground as the man passed out of sight. "Mussy me, wot's he done to you, my pretty?" she cried, rushing to the girl's side and catching her to her great bosom.
The great cook-stove, throwing off a fearful heat, helped to heighten the brilliancy of the farm-wife's complexion, and brought beads of perspiration out upon her forehead. Prudence and Alice looked cool beside "Mother Hephzy," but then they were never allowed to do any work in the kitchen. Mrs. Malling loved her kitchen better than any part of the house.
Money with him was like the farm-wife's dish of grain she tosses in showers to her fowls. He was more than what you call a lady-killer, he was a woman-eater. His pride was in it as well as his taste, and when men are like that, indeed they are devourers!
In the meantime Joan went to the door and flung it wide open. In spite of the farm-wife's warnings she had not a shadow of doubt as to the peaceful object of the visitation, and rather felt that in some sort of way it was intended as an expression of good-will and greeting. Had not Buck told her that they held her in the light of some sort of benefactor?
Now, as Alice approached the front door again, she heard the sound of high-pitched voices coming from the kitchen. Sarah Gurridge had come over while the farm-wife's rage was at its height; and, as Alice listened, she thought that these two old cronies were quarrelling. But her ears quickly told her that her surmise was wrong.
He was near the farm-wife's kitchen, but to windward of the cooking-reek, pleasantly warmed, sufficiently shaded, and alone, with open letter on the rug covering his legs. He whistled to Jane's dog Wayland, a retriever, having Newfoundland relationships, of smithy redness and ruggedness; it was the whistle that startled her to turn and see him as she was in the act of handing Mrs.
His shirt sleeves were rolled well up above his elbows, and even at that distance she could see the deep furrows in his arms where the rope-like muscles stood out beneath the thin, almost delicate skin. But her attention was quickly diverted by the clacking of the farm-wife's tongue. She could hear it where she sat with the window tight shut.
And Robb Chillingwood found himself sitting before the farm-wife's generous board almost before he was aware of it. While he was being served he had to face a running fire of questions from, at least, three of the ladies present. Robb was a cheerful soul and ever ready with a pleasant laugh. This snatched holiday from a stress of under-paid work was like a "bunk" to a schoolboy.
Presently the strained look in the farm-wife's face relaxed, and she turned to her charge. "That's him," she cried, with a swift return to her angry, contemptuous manner. "It's him showin' off like all them scallawags. Come right in, missie," she added, holding out her hands to lead the girl home. But her kindly intention received an unexpected shock.
Her usefulness had been arrested by an invisible but impassable barrier, though she had passed and re-passed the threshold of Hilbrook's chamber with tea and milk toast. He said simply that he saw no object in eating; and he had not been sufficiently interested to turn his head and look at her in speaking to her. With the doctor's science he was as indifferent as with the farm-wife's service.
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