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Updated: May 31, 2025
But the other could not see them. The Padre jumped eagerly at his words. "Just so. I've known them so long now that there doesn't seem to be any other world for me. Even Leeson Butte makes me feel er strange." Buck nodded. Then he changed the subject. "Say, we don't sleep at the farm to-night," he said. "The blankets are up at the old fort. That's why I got around here. When's she comin' along?"
Guess we'll get a buggy from the camp an' drive into Leeson. Ther's dance halls ther', an' they run a decent faro joint at a place I know. An' they sell elegant rye, too. Wal, we'll git that buggy, an' git fixed up reg'lar in Leeson, an' have a bully time, an' git right back to here an' run this yer farm between us. How's that?" "I I don't think I understand." Joan's alarm grew.
"I thought Mr Leeson must have something to do with it," said the Rector's wife. "What has Mr Wentworth been doing? When you keep a Low-Church Curate, you never can tell what he may say. If he had known of the All-Souls pudding he would have come to dinner, and we should have had it at first-hand," said Mrs Morgan, severely.
Yet, in the midst of this unmeaning conversation, of which she remarked that Miss Leeson bore the principal part, not one of them failed, from time to time, to exclaim with great rapture "What sweet music! " "Oh. how charming!" "Did you ever hear any thing so delightful?
Mercy Lascelles snapped at the man's easy acceptance of the situation. "I wish now I'd come by Leeson Butte." "That's sure how the boss said," retorted the man. "The Leeson trail is the right one. It's a good trail, an' I know most every inch of it. You was set comin' round through the hills. Guessed you'd had enough prairie on the railroad. It's up to you.
Mrs Mears, whose character was of that common sort which renders delineation superfluous, received them with the customary forms of good breeding. Mrs Harrel soon engaged herself at a card-table; and Cecilia, who declined playing, was seated next to Miss Leeson, who arose to return the courtesy she made in advancing to her, but that past, did not again even look at her.
The virgin at Hodges Figgis' window on Monday looking in for one of the alphabet books you were going to write. Keen glance you gave her. Wrist through the braided jesse of her sunshade. She lives in Leeson park with a grief and kickshaws, a lady of letters. Talk that to someone else, Stevie: a pickmeup.
He looked to her horse's bridle, he saw that she was comfortable. Then he vaulted into Cæsar's saddle with all his old agility. "Which way, Buck?" The girl spoke with the easy manner of one who has little concern, but her eyes belied her words. A strange thrill was storming in her bosom. "Leeson Butte," said Buck, a deep glow shining in his dark eyes.
So he did what his good angel suggested to him, kissed his wife, and said he was well aware what heavy calls he had made upon her patience, and soothed her the best way that occurred to him. "But you were very hard upon poor Leeson, my dear," said the Rector, with his puzzled look, when she had regained her composure.
I suppose I must ask Leeson to stay to dinner? It is absurd of him to come at six o'clock." "Meetings in the garden?" said Mrs Morgan, aghast. "I don't feel as if I could believe it. There is that tiresome man at last.
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