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Updated: May 31, 2025
Aunt Cornelia was beside her husband now. "No, no," Blev answered the look on the two faces; "nothin' ain't the matter of Sammy. He's jest married that little Huldy Frew 'at's been waitin' on table at Aunt Randy Card's ho-tel. You know, Aunt Cornely, she is a mighty pretty little trick and there ain't nothin' bad about the gal.
W'y, they'd starve! Huldy and the chaps would jest p'intedly starve." "No, they won't, John. He'd come to his senses and be thankful for what the Lord sent, like other people. W'y, John " "Cornely honey don't. Don't ye say another word.
The boy was more contented at home, less wayward, and the feeling of apprehension that had dwelt continually in the hearts of Pap and Aunt Cornelia ever since his adolescence now slept. The little Huldy her own small cup apparently full of happiness was all affectionate gratitude and docility.
Everybody has run away from us. Huldy is gone, too. McLane is dead." "Dead? Dead where?" "There" she pointed to a feather-bed lying upon the floor, the outlines of which seemed unusually pointed and stiff for feathers, though it was sown up in its own blankets and quilts. Joe Johnson touched it with his foot and bounded back. "Hell-cat!" he cried, "is this one of your tricks?"
"Wal, Huldy she worked and worked, and finally she fished piggy out in the bucket, but he was dead as a door-nail; and she got him out o' the way quietly, and didn't say much; and the parson, he took to a great Hebrew book in his study; and says he, 'Huldy, I ain't much in temporals, says he.
"'Do, Huldy? says the parson: 'why, there's the other turkey, out there by the door; and a fine bird, too, he is. Sure enough, there was the old tom-turkey a struttin' and a sidlin' and a quitterin, and a floutin' his tail-feathers in the sun, like a lively young widower, all ready to begin life over agin. "'But, says Huldy, 'you know he can't set on eggs. "'He can't?
The parson, he took no notice at fust; but when the yard was all ablaze with flowers he used to come and stand in a kind o' maze at the front door, and say, 'Beautiful, beautiful: why, Huldy, I never see any thing like it. And then when her work was done arternoons, Huldy would sit with her sewin' in the porch, and sing and trill away till she'd draw the meadow-larks and the bobolinks, and the orioles to answer her, and the great big elm-tree overhead would get perfectly rackety with the birds; and the parson, settin' there in his study, would git to kind o' dreamin' about the angels, and golden harps, and the New Jerusalem; but he wouldn't speak a word, 'cause Huldy she was jist like them wood-thrushes, she never could sing so well when she thought folks was hearin'. Folks noticed, about this time, that the parson's sermons got to be like Aaron's rod, that budded and blossomed: there was things in 'em about flowers and birds, and more 'special about the music o' heaven.
The seat broke when Zekle and Huldy were having what they called 'a ride' together. The front was kicked in by a vicious mare. The springs gave way and the floor bumped on the axle. Every portion of the wagon became a prey of its special accident, except that most fragile looking of all its parts, the wheel.
"Levin, I kin show you how to plough: I can't do it, but you're the man." "Cyrus, Huldy don't hate you. She says you're the nighest to a friend she's got." "Oh, I love her like sugar-cane," the lean, cymlin-headed servant said. "Tell her I'm goin' to be a great man. I'm goin' to spile the game. They lick me, but Cy Jeems has courage, Levin." "Cyrus, tell Huldy all that's goin' on agin her.
"Then, Huldy, hear me, lady with such purty eyes, I must believe in 'em, wicked as all you look at has been! I never stole anything in my life, nor trampled on a worm if I could git out of his path, so help me my poor mother's prayers! Huldy, how shall I save myself from these wicked men and the laws I never broke till Sunday? Oh, tell me what to do!"
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