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Updated: June 24, 2025
"That po' thing ain't goin' to be drug back to no 'sylum," pursued his wife. "She shall stay here long as she's a mind to till her folks come for her or till she gets grown or something. And she shall have all she wants to eat, sho as my name's Lizabeth Collins. I've heard tell of them 'sylums. They say the chillen don't have nothin' to eat or wear but what folks give 'em.
She made no comment, however, but set about making tea for herself; and, then, drawing up her chair to the table, leant her chin on her hand and intently regarded her visitor. "Where's William?" inquired Mrs. Transom. "Up-stairs." "Askin' his father's pardon?" "Well," 'Lizabeth grimly admitted, "that's like enough; but you needn't fret about them." Mrs. William showed no disposition to fret.
He was not praying, however; but had his head well buried in the oaken chest, among the papers of which he was cautiously prying. The faint squeal that broke from his wife's lips sufficed to startle him. He dropped the lid with a crash, turned sharply round, and scrambled to his feet. His look embraced the two women in one brief flicker, and then rested on the blazing eyes of 'Lizabeth.
"I never knew a word o' this, William," she said humbly. Mrs. Transom broke into an incredulous titter. "Ugh! get along, you designer!" "William," appealed 'Lizabeth, "I've never had no thought o' robbin' you." 'Lizabeth had definite notions of right and wrong, and this disinheritance of William struck her conservative mind as a violation of Nature's laws.
The pair went together, leaving an anxious trio behind them. Farmer Prothero was a man of few words when his mind was made up, and was not long in beginning the subject each had at heart. 'I'm sorry, cousin 'Lizabeth, that I can't let Netta marry just now. She's too young, and Howel isn't the lad to study her.
"I can't tell this without cryin' to save my life," said she; "but 'Lizabeth never shed a tear. She looked like she'd got past cryin', and she talked straight on as if she'd made up her mind to say jest so much, and she'd die if she didn't git to say it." "'As soon as the funeral was over, says she, 'I set out to find the lady that wanted the candlesticks.
'I am not having no intentions of marrying again, simpered the widow; 'wanst is enough. My poor Griffey. 'Quite right, cousin 'Lizabeth, wan Griffey is enough, in all conscience. The best tea things were duly arranged; cakes hot from the oven buttered; the best green tea put into the best teapot, and all proper honour done to Mrs Jenkins, from which she augured well for her Howels.
'I don't suppose as he would, but he's sure to be at 'ome in an hour, and, if you'd like, mum, I'd just send 'Lizabeth round. 'Thank you; I think I'll go and see him. At last the burden of the dinner-hour was over, and 'Lizabeth could be left alone for a little. Mrs. Gandle washed her hands, in a perfunctory way, and guided her visitor to a dark flight of stairs. They ascended.
Transom was inordinately fond. Her chatter was interrupted at length with some abruptness. "I suppose," said 'Lizabeth meditatively, "you was pretty, once." Mrs. Transom, with her hand on the bottle, stared, and then tittered. "Lud! my dear, you ain't over-complimentary. Yes, pretty I was, though I say it." "We ain't neither of us pretty now you especially."
Dinner was somehow cooked in a Babel of voices, served in a rush, and afterward their chatter rose above the hissing of dishwater and the clash of hot plates. Julia laughed herself tired at the nonsense, the mad plans, and untrammelled dreams. Kennedy was to be a writer, 'Lizabeth the president of a girls' college, little Mary wanted to live in "Venith."
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