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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Well, I don't know but I'm a leetle grain sorry," she said. "Sorry!" repeated the sister of the person under discussion. "I don't see what thar railly is to be sorry about." Mrs. Lithicum looked as if she had got her foot into it, and she flushed, but she had her defence ready.
"Oh, I reckon the ol' woman does feel a leetle hard at us my wife in particular, an' an' some o' the rest, I reckon. You see, thar was a lot said at the quiltin' yesterday about Lizzie Lithicum a-cuttin' of Sally out, an' one thing or other, an' a mother's calculated to feel bitter about sech talk, especially when her only child is laid out as cold an' stiff as a poker."
"Lizzie 'lowed, as thar was a' extra seat in our wagon, you might like to come on with us. She said she had some'n' particular to tell you." "Tell her I am not going," said Westerfelt, sharply. "I am not going." "Oh, you ain't!" Lithicum looked his surprise both at the decision and at the unaccountable coldness of the young man's manner, which he had not noticed till now. "Well, so long, Mr.
The latter and Slogan were talking over a joint hog-killing they were going to have to save labor and expense. Peter had put a higher mental valuation on the labor saved than Lithicum.
"What have I done now, Aunt Clarissa?" sighed the frail-looking girl, as she took off her sun-bonnet and stood in the centre of the room, holding a bunch of wild flowers and delicate maiden-hair fern leaves in her hand. "Why, John Westerfelt has done you exactly as he has many a other gal," was the bolt the woman hurled. "He's settin' up to Lizzie Lithicum like a house afire.
Lithicum reached it first. "As I'm alive!" she cried. "Mis' Dawson's got back. She's gettin' out uv a wagon down at 'er cabin." "Well, I 'lowed she wouldn't always be gallivantin' about heer and yan," said the weaver, as she peered over the shoulder of her guest. "I reckon they've all got tired of 'er over thar an' sent 'er home." Mrs. Lithicum followed the speaker back to the loom.
"Well, you see, Mis' Slogan, she's tuck a most unaccountable dislike to Lizzie, an' a pusson like well, some do think her trouble has sorter turned 'er brain, an' the's no rail tellin' what quar notion may strike 'er." "Do you think so, Mis' Lithicum?" Mrs. Slogan retained the big smooth shuttle in her hand and eyed the speaker anxiously, her eyelids quivering. "To be downright plain, yes, I do.
Suddenly the others heard him utter an ejaculation of profound astonishment. The loom ceased its monotonous thumping, and all eyes turned on him. "What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Lithicum, her round, red face full of curiosity. "I'll bet narry one o' you could make a good guess." They knew him too well to expect information from him, so they all started for the window. Mrs.
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