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Updated: June 10, 2025
Why, mother, there's more gas got up in them Brunswick buildin's, from young men that are spilin' for hard work, than you could shake a stick at! But Mis' Pennel told me yesterday she was 'spectin' Moses home to-day." "Oho! that's at the bottom of Sally's bein' up there," said Mrs. Kittridge.
"Mis' Pennel oughter be trainin' of her up to work," said Mrs. Kittridge. "Sally could oversew and hem when she wa'n't more'n three years old; nothin' straightens out children like work. Mis' Pennel she just keeps that ar child to look at." "All children ain't alike, Mis' Kittridge," said Miss Roxy, sententiously. "This 'un ain't like your Sally.
I suppose you mean to say I was a fright when you left?" "Not at all not at all," said Moses; "but handsome things may grow handsomer, you know." "I don't like flattery," said Sally. "I never flatter, Miss Kittridge," said Moses.
A man buys a pistol or gun but once or twice in his life, and he gives the matter considerable study and shops around a good deal. Fifteen years ago Kittridge of Cincinnati used to be the champion cutter, but either he is out of business or has changed his tactics; now St. Louis and Chicago have gone into the postal card business and struck the 'Me Big Injun! attitude.
There her artistic faculties were trained into creating funereal monuments out of chenille embroidery, fully equal to Miss Emily's own; also to painting landscapes, in which the ground and all the trees were one unvarying tint of blue-green; and also to creating flowers of a new and particular construction, which, as Sally Kittridge remarked, were pretty, but did not look like anything in heaven or earth.
Was she not evidently, as yet at least, bigger and stronger than he, able to hold his rebellious little hands, to lift and carry him, and to shut him up, if so she willed, in a dark closet, and even to administer to him that discipline of the birch which Mrs. Kittridge often and forcibly recommended as the great secret of her family prosperity?
"Now there's that witch of a Sally Kittridge," he said to himself; "I wouldn't have such a girl for a wife. Nothing to her but foam and frisk, no heart more than a bobolink! But isn't she amusing? By George! isn't she, though?" "But," thought Moses, "it's time I settled this matter who is to be my wife. I won't marry till I'm rich, that's flat. My wife isn't to rub and grub.
With which threat of vengeance on her mind Sally Kittridge fell asleep, while Mara lay awake pondering, wondering if Moses would come to-morrow, and what he would be like if he did come.
It was a good mile to the one story, gambrel-roofed cottage where lived Captain Kittridge, the long, lean, brown man, with his good wife of the great Leghorn bonnet, round, black bead eyes, and psalm-book, whom we told you of at the funeral.
"Well, if she's come home, I s'pose I may as well give up havin' any good of Sally, for that girl fairly bows down to Mara Lincoln and worships her." "Well, good reason," said the Captain. "There ain't a puttier creature breathin'. I'm a'most a mind to worship her myself." "Captain Kittridge, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, at your age, talking as you do."
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