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"Jim Hutchins's herders must have sneaked back over by Iron Mountain," suggested Fletcher. "Jim Hutchins," mused California John; "where is he now? Know?" "I heard tell he was at Stockton." "Well, that's all right then. If Jim was around, he might start a shootin' row, and we don't want any of that." "Well, I don't know as I'm afraid of Jim Hutchins," said Ross Fletcher.
I recall her kind welcomes, the faint deepening of colour in her cheeks when she greeted me, and while I suspected that she looked up to me she had a surprising and tantalizing self-command. There came moments when I grew slightly alarmed, as, for instance, one Sunday in the early spring when I was dining at the Ezra Hutchins's house and surprised Mrs.
Hutchins's glance on me, suspecting her of seeking to divine what manner of man I was. I became self-conscious; I dared not look at Maude, who sat across the table; thereafter I began to feel that the Hutchins connection regarded me as a suitor.
Hogarth's sketch is the sole source of all the portraits, more or less "romanced," which are prefixed to editions of Fielding; and also, there is good reason to suspect, of the dubious little miniature, still in possession of his descendants, which figures in Hutchins's History of Dorset and elsewhere. More than one account has been given of the way in which the drawing was produced.
I recall her kind welcomes, the faint deepening of colour in her cheeks when she greeted me, and while I suspected that she looked up to me she had a surprising and tantalizing self-command. There came moments when I grew slightly alarmed, as, for instance, one Sunday in the early spring when I was dining at the Ezra Hutchins's house and surprised Mrs.
Hutchins's nephew, who was daily becoming more and more of a factor in the management of the mills, and had built the house of yellow brick that stood out so incongruously among the older Hutchinses' mansions, and marked a transition. I thought him rather a yellow-brick gentleman himself for his assumption of cosmopolitan manners.
The little first baseman flushed and a steely look came into his eyes. At the next one he struck, but it came across the plate as an out-shoot that was just too far out for Hutchins's reach. Had he not offered it would have been a "called ball." With two strikes called against him, and nothing moving, Hutchins felt the ooze coming out of his neck and forehead.
"Hutchins! Hutchins!" said Carrados warningly. "My daughter, sir; you wouldn't have her not know?" pleaded Hutchins, rather crest-fallen. "It won't go any further." Carrados laughed quietly to himself as he felt Margaret Hutchins's startled and questioning eyes attempting to read his mind.
At East Stour, according to the extracts from the parish register given in Hutchins's History of Dorset, four children were born, namely, Sarah, above mentioned, afterwards the authoress of David Simple, Anne, Beatrice, and another son, Edmund. Anne died at East Stour in August 1716. Of Beatrice nothing further is known.
It would be little harm for you to speak to me there. When can ye come?" "To-morrow morning." "How can ye come of a morning? Your time's not your own." "I say I'll come." She enunciated the words emphatically as Hutchins's crutches were heard coming near the door. Then she left the room.
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