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Bell, puffed and hot, accompanied by Matty, who was also a little blown, and by the younger girls, looking very cross, had been chasing Captain Bertram and Miss Meadowsweet from one lawn to another. Mrs. Bell, after receiving a somewhat severe snubbing from Mrs.
In July I have a pageant. Foxglove and Eglantine make melodious my woods; Ladies' Slipper gives a golden cope to the hillside, with purple campanula to wind about it like a scarf. After this August, September, October our uplands faint out in semitones: grey scabious, grey harebell, pale bed-straw, white meadowsweet, like the lace of an old lady's cap.
"If you will come with me and be my little housekeeper we will go away to some nice spot, and be quite alone together in the country if you like, amid the foxglove and the meadowsweet, or by the green waters, where you shall stand in the sunset and dream; and I will teach you music and the piano" her eyes dilated "and you shall not do any of this wretched nasty work any more. What do you say?"
Yes, dear, I'll have some of your delicious tea. Such a treat! Some more cream? Thank you, yes; I'll help myself. Why shouldn't Mrs. Bertram call on Mrs. Meadowsweet? That's what I say, ladies," continued Mrs. Morris, looking over the top of her cup of tea in a decidedly fight-me-if-you-dare manner. "Nobody said she shouldn't call," answered Mrs. Butler.
When the time came for Miss Meadowsweet to go home, Albert Bell was eagerly summoned to accompany her. "This is unnecessary," said the captain; "I will see Miss Meadowsweet back to the Gray House." "Oh, now, Captain! Bee, don't you think it's really too much for him?" "Of course I don't, dear Mrs.
In short, everything that one could desire. He died rather suddenly, and I was afraid Mrs. Meadowsweet would leave Northbury, but Bee did not wish it. Bee has a will of her own, and I fancy she's attached to us all." "I am very glad that you can give us such a pleasant account of these parishioners of yours, dear Mr. Ingram," responded Mrs. Bertram. "The fact is, I am in a difficult position here.
Down toward Stratford there are flat islands covered with sedge, long rows of weeping-willows, low hazel, hawthorn, and places where "Green Grow the Rushes, O." Then, if the farmer leaves a spot untilled, the dogrose pre-empts the place and showers its petals on the vagrant winds. Meadowsweet, forget-me-nots and wild geranium snuggle themselves below the boughs of the sturdy yews.
"I ran on first, and Martha is following. I came to know how you are, and how you're bearing up and is Beatrice in?" "I do declare," said Mrs. Meadowsweet. She rose from her easy-chair. "You mean to be good-natured, neighbors, but really you're enough to deave one. How am I bearing up? Am I the woman to bring ill-luck to my child by crying at her wedding? No, she's not in she's at the Bertrams.
In this case they are manifestly untrue, for how is it possible for you to tell that the girl you have just been speaking to is dear, delightful, and fresh?" "Her face is fresh, her manners are fresh, her expression is delightful. There is no use, mother, you can't crush me. I am in love with Beatrice Meadowsweet." Mrs. Bertram's brow became clouded.
If it had been possible for light blue eyes of a very common shade and shape to wither with a look, poor Beatrice would never have got over that terrible moment. Stout Mrs. Bell dropped her companion's arm, moved two or three paces away, and accompanied her scorching glance with words of muffled thunder. "Beatrice Meadowsweet, you are either green with jealousy, or you are a perfect goose."
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