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Updated: May 9, 2025
"That I'm grieved, mother, at not being able to help in building the new lighthouse," shouted her son, in a voice that might have split an ordinary ear. Old Martha's visage relaxed into a faint smile as she turned towards the fire and looked earnestly at it, as if for explanation or consolation.
Martha's tone to Miss Matty was just such as that good, rough-spoken servant usually kept sacred for little children, and which I had never heard her use to any grown-up person.
They racked their memories for any recent transgression of sufficient importance, but could not recall any. Carl had spilled a saucerful of jam on Mrs. Peter Flagg's silk dress two evenings before, when, at Aunt Martha's invitation, she had stayed to supper. But Mr. Meredith had not noticed it, and Mrs. Flagg, who was a kindly soul, had made no fuss.
With her head on Martha's shoulder she told of the horror of that rainy April night when, with agonized hands against her hot cheeks, she had heard him stumbling up the narrow stairs staggering drunk, lunging through the door, and falling headlong at her feet.
Her pretty hair curled softly round her head; her delicate profile was relieved against the rough, dark pillow; and the tips of her little pink ears could not have been improved by art, though they might have been by soap and water. Warm tears came into Miss Martha's eyes, which were quickly followed from corresponding fountains in Madam Delia's.
Then he sat down and read the racing news. There was no danger of anyone seeing him, for the place was entirely solitary with the double loneliness of hill and woodland. There were no children in the batch except Martha's friend's little boy, and he was timid and never went bird's-nesting.
"Because," said she, "servants never dream anything but the things in the Dream-book, like snakes and oysters and going to a wedding that means a funeral, and snakes are a false female friend, and oysters are babies." "Talking of babies," said Cyril, "where's the Lamb?" "Martha's going to take him to Rochester to see her cousins. Mother said she might.
A moment later the anxious mistress came in without suspicion, but Martha's eyes were as affectionate as a dog's, and there was a new look of hopefulness on her face; this dreaded guest was a friend after all, and not a foe come from proud Boston to confound her ignorance and patient efforts. The two young creatures, mistress and maid, were hurrying across the bleaching-green.
As for himself, the deacon had never believed that the Martha's Vineyard man could accompany the expedition, so that his presence or absence could have no influence on his own rights. It is true, the deacon possessed no direct legal transfer of the charts; but he inferred that all the previous circumstances gave him sufficient claims to justify him in, at least, looking, into their contents.
These occurred when there was a band of cow-boys camped near by, and John generally combined business with pleasure by talking with them about cattle and saddles. But that did not detract at all from Martha's enjoyment of the rides. She always carried her guitar swung over her shoulder by a strap when she went out with her brother to see the cow-boys.
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