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She was not especially appreciated, for she was considered prosy and commonplace. Prosy she undoubtedly was, but not commonplace, for invariable contentment and unbounded good-nature are more and more difficult to find in this censorious world. Mrs. Meadowsweet now smiled gently to herself. "However Beatrice may take it, I am glad Mrs. Bertram called," she murmured.
But," smacking his lips, "a rustic Amaryllis, breathing all May-buds and Meadowsweet." "Have her out, Peggy!" shouted Cibber. "I know the run there's the covert! Hark, forward! Ha, ha, ha!" Mr. Vane rose, and, with a sternness that brought the old beau up with a run, he said: "Mr. Cibber, age and infirmity are privileged; but for you, Sir Charles " "Don't be angry," interposed Mrs.
Every path about his home, every field and hedgerow had dear and friendly memories for him; and the odor of the meadowsweet was better than the incense steaming in the sunshine. He loitered, and hung over the stile till the far-off woods began to turn purple, till the white mists were wreathing in the valley.
Presently there came a quick and somewhat nervous ring to the door-bell. Mrs. Meadowsweet often said that there were rings and rings. This ring made her give a little start, and took away the sleepiness which was stealing over her. The next moment Catherine Bertram entered the room. Her eyes were glowing, and her face, usually rather pale, was effused with a fine color.
This was all she saw; but she felt, above her and about her, the strong growth of the beeches clothing the ridge, the rounding of pale green cones on countless spruce-branches, the push of myriads of sweet-fern fronds in the cracks of the stony slope below the wood, and the crowding shoots of meadowsweet and yellow flags in the pasture beyond.
"They are frightfully late, aren't they?" exclaimed Daisy Jenkins, giving a slight yawn, and looking longingly out at the tennis courts as she spoke. "I suppose it's the way with fashionable folk. For my part, I call it rude. Mrs. Meadowsweet, may I run across the garden, and pick a piece of sweet brier to put in the front of my dress? Somehow I pine for it."
Now whose ring is that at the bell? Oh, it's Bee, of course; come back at last, my girl has. Well, Jessie Morris, I wish you good-night." "Stay a minute, neighbor that isn't Bee's voice." The door was opened, and Miss Peters came in. "How are you, Mrs. Meadowsweet," she said, running up to the good lady and giving her a kiss, which resembled the peck of an eager bird, on her cheek.
Meadowsweet had never been trained in a school of art, but, as she said to herself, no one knew better what was what than she did; above all, no one knew better what was comme il faut in the matter of carpets. Meadowsweet, poor man, had been particular about his carpets. There were grades in carpets as in all other things, and felt, amongst these grades, ranked low, very low indeed.
Meadowsweet a kind of shock, but all her natural spirits revived when she saw the tea equipage. She approved of the exquisite eggshell china, and noted with satisfaction that the teapot was really silver. "What a refreshment a cup of tea is!" exclaimed the good woman. "Nothing like it, as I dare say you know, Mrs. Bertram." Mrs.
The sense of beauty, the sense of one's body, the freedom of thought and of desire and the wonder of life, are all interwoven strands. I remember that in the Park of Burnmore one great craving I had was to take off my clothes there altogether, and bathe in a clear place among loosestrife and meadowsweet, and afterwards lie wet and naked upon the soft green turf with the sun shining upon me.
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