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Updated: June 2, 2025
There is when summer reigns no lovelier spot than this bright medley of squares and stars and triangles and circles all Euclid in flowerage which glow with multitudinous colors where the sun strikes. You will find no new flowers at Matocton, though.
Sunset was approaching on the following afternoon when Rudolph Musgrave, fresh from Lichfield, whither, as has been recorded, the bringing out of the July number of the Lichfield Historical Associations Quarterly Magazine had called him, came out on the front porch at Matocton.
It was, perhaps, on these that Colonel Musgrave pondered so intently. Once the farthingaled and red-heeled gentry came in sluggish barges to Matocton, and the broad river on which the estate faces was thick with bellying sails; since the days of railroads, one approaches the mansion through the maple-grove in the rear, and enters ignominiously by the back-door.
Colonel Musgrave remained five days at Matocton, that he might put his house in order against his nearing marriage.
"They were good days, sir," he chuckled. "Heh, we'll stick to the old customs. We'll give a dinner and announce it at dessert, just as your honored grandfather did your Aunt Constantia's betrothal " For about the Musgraves of Matocton there could be no question.
Gravely he inspected all the portraits of his feminine ancestors that he might decide, as one without bias, whether Matocton had ever boasted a more delectable mistress. Equity or in his fond eyes at least, demanded a negative.
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