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Fur's I'm concerned well, Jabez Hedges told me yesterday that Rastus Young told him he cal'lated he'd have to be droppin' in at the store some of these nights to buy some rubber boots and new ileskins. We sold him the ones he's got four years ago and he ain't paid for 'em yet. No, no, Mary-'Gusta, don't you worry about that sacrifice.
Now, be right down honest; wouldn't you like to have a couple of years, say, at a school like that, if you could have 'em just as well as not? Didn't you say not more'n a fortni't ago that you was glad Irene Mullet was goin' to have such a chance to improve herself?" Mary-'Gusta had said that very thing; she could not truthfully deny it. "Of course I did," she answered. "And I am glad.
On the twentieth day of April in the year 19 , the people that is, a majority of the grown people of Ostable were talking of Marcellus Hall and Mary-'Gusta. A part of this statement is not surprising. The average person, no matter how humble or obscure, is pretty certain to be talked about on the day of his funeral, and Marcellus was to be buried that afternoon.
The silence was broken by the rattle of wheels in the yard. Mr. Hallett at the door held up a warning hand. A moment later he ushered two people in at the front door and led them through the parlor into the "big settin'-room." Mary-'Gusta could see the late comers plainly. They were both men, one big and red-faced and bearded, the other small, and thin, and white-haired.
You're a dummed good girl! The best and squarest yes, and the spunkiest little girl I ever saw. You're a brick." "I'm awful sorry I went into the parlor, Cap'n Gould." "Blast the parlor! I don't care if you stay in there a week and smash everything in it. And and, see here, Mary-'Gusta, don't you call me 'Cap'n Gould' any more. Call me 'Uncle Shad, will you?" Just before bedtime that night Mr.
The child would have asked the reason for this, but at the first hint of a question Mrs. Hobbs bade her hush. "You mustn't talk," she said. "Why mustn't I?" "Because 'tain't the right thing to do, that's why. Now hurry up and get dressed." Mary-'Gusta silently wriggled out of her everyday frock, was led to the washstand and vigorously scrubbed. Then Mrs.
A cousin of hers, a maiden lady of sixty or thereabouts, wealthy and a semi-invalid who cherished her ill-health, was in need of a female companion. Mrs. Keith was certain that Mary-'Gusta would be just the person to fill that need. Mr. Keith was by no means so certain. He raised some objections. "Humph," he said. "Well, Gertrude, to be frank, I don't think much of the scheme.
Mary-'Gusta scrutinized the photograph again. Then, with it in her hand, she descended to the kitchen. Isaiah was sitting in a chair by the stove reading a newspaper. "Mr. Chase," said Mary-'Gusta, "who was Edgar S. Farmer?"
You know you was the one that would fetch her over that very day." "Oh, blame it onto me, of course!" "I ain't blamin' anybody. But she's here and we've got to decide whether to send her away or not. Shall we?" They were interrupted by Mary-'Gusta herself, who entered the barn, where the discussion took place, a doll under one arm and a very serious expression on her face. "Hello!" hailed Zoeth.
That's right; shake hands and be sociable." Mary-'Gusta extended her hand and Mr. Chase, after wiping his own hand on the apron, pumped hers up and down. "Pleased to meet you," he said, solemnly. "Now for the dunnage," said Captain Shad. "There's the satchel and and the other things. Look out for that basket! Mr. Chase had seized the basket and swung it out of the buggy.
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