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Updated: May 26, 2025
I don't mind your siding with the Dawsons in this difference of opinion, if you can get their results." Mrs. Wheeler rose and slipped quickly from the room, feeling her way down the dark staircase to the kitchen. It was dusky and quiet there. Mahailey sat in a corner, hemming dish-towels by the light of a smoky old brass lamp which was her own cherished luminary. Mrs.
Ralph bought the new one. I didn't give him your mudder's new preserves, nudder. I give him the old last year's stuff we had left over, and now you an' your mudder'll have plenty." Claude laughed. "Oh, I don't care if Ralph takes all the fruit on the place, Mahailey!" She shrank back a little, saying confusedly, "No, I know you don't, Mr. Claude. I know you don't."
When he stayed downstairs after supper, his mother and Mahailey were grateful. Besides collecting war pictures, Mahailey now hunted through the old magazines in the attic for pictures of China. She had marked on her big kitchen calendar the day when Enid would arrive in Hong-Kong. "Mr.
She remained sitting at the foot of the deserted breakfast table. She was not crying. Her eyes were utterly sightless. Her back was so stooped that she seemed to be bending under a burden. Mahailey cleared the dishes away quietly. Out in the muddy fields Claude finished his talk with his father. He explained that he wanted to slip away without saying good-bye to any one.
"You really oughtn't to load mother up with things like this, Ralph," he exclaimed fretfully. "Did you ever try washing this damned thing yourself?" "Of course I have. If Mrs. Dawson can manage it, I should think mother could." "Mrs. Dawson is a younger woman. Anyhow, there's no point in trying to make machinists of Mahailey and mother." Ralph lifted his eyebrows to excuse Claude's bluntness.
Ralph's done packed up a barr'l of your mudder's jelly an' pickles to take out there." "That's all right, Mahailey. Mr. Wested was a widower, and I guess there wasn't anything of that sort put up at his place." She hesitated and bent lower. "He asked me fur them pickled peaches I made fur you, but I didn't give him none. I hid 'em all in my old cook-stove we done put down cellar when Mr.
She thought herself well off now, never to have to beg for food or go off into the woods to gather firing, to be sure of a warm bed and shoes and decent clothes. Mahailey was one of eighteen children; most of them grew up lawless or half-witted, and two of her brothers, like her husband, ended their lives in jail. She had never been sent to school, and could not read or write.
Claude, it wasn't like that in our war; the soldiers didn't do nothin' to the women an' chillun. Many a time our house was full of Northern soldiers, an' they never so much as broke a piece of my mudder's chiney." "You'll have to tell me about it again sometime, Mahailey. I must have my dinner and get back to work.
Though he wanted little to do with theology and theologians, Claude would have said that he was a Christian. He believed in God, and in the spirit of the four Gospels, and in the Sermon on the Mount. He used to halt and stumble at "Blessed are the meek," until one day he happened to think that this verse was meant exactly for people like Mahailey; and surely she was blessed!
But she can't fit all the parts together. It's a good deal of work, you know." "Now, Mother," said Ralph good-humouredly, as he emptied the syrup pitcher over his cakes, "you're prejudiced. Nobody ever thinks of skimming milk now-a-days. Every up-to-date farmer uses a separator." Mrs. Wheeler's pale eyes twinkled. "Mahailey and I will never be quite up-to-date, Ralph.
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