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After a minute of uncertainty, his curiosity triumphed over his discretion and he put, in an apologetic tone, an equally indelicate question. "What about old Reuben Merryweather's granddaughter? Has she been provided for?" For an instant Mrs. Gay looked at him with shining, reproachful eyes under a loosened curl of fair hair which was threaded with sliver.
Turning away the next instant, he vaulted astride the bare back of the mare, and started at a gallop in the direction of the turnpike. "I'll be blessed if that little gal of Reuben Merryweather's ain't his religion," commented young Adam. "An' he's of the opinion that he's going to marry her this comin' spring," cackled Solomon.
On the hill behind Reuben Merryweather's cottage the peach-trees bloomed, and red-bud and dogwood filled the grey woods with clouds of delicate colour. Spring, which germinated in the earth, moved also, with a strange restlessness, in the hearts of men and women. As the weeks passed, that inextinguishable hope, which mounts always with the rising sap, looked from their faces.
"I lay he seed Molly Merryweather comin' up from the low grounds," remarked Solomon, when the young man had moved out of earshot. "Thar's truth spoken for once, if only by accident," retorted old Adam. "Yonder comes Reuben Merryweather's wagon now, laden with fodder. Is thar anybody settin' on it, young Adam? My eyes is too po' to make out." "Molly Merryweather, who else?" responded the younger.
"Then pass it on," replied Mallory, reaching for the jug of cider, which travelled in a regular orbit from old Adam's right hand round the circle to the neighbour on his left, who chanced to be Solomon Hatch. "Speakin' of impiousness," remarked that sour-faced little man, "have you all heard the tales about Reuben Merryweather's gal sence she's had her windfall?
"You hold to the agreement," said the farmer, "of course. My wife was witness. I am to have anything under the sun that I ask for; and I am to have it now." "Ask away," said the dwarf. "I want neighbour Merryweather's estate," said the farmer. "What, all this land below here, that joins on to your own?" "Every acre," said the farmer.
I think of asking for neighbour Merryweather's estate, but this is a chance never likely to happen again, and I should like to make a wise choice, and that is not easy at a moment's notice."
It seems he thought it best to prepare her for the fact that your Uncle Jonathan left a good deal of his property it amounts to an income of about ten thousand a year, I believe, to Reuben Merryweather's granddaughter when she comes of age. Of course it wasn't the money Angela never gave that a thought but the admission that the girl was his illegitimate daughter that struck so heavy a blow."
"Just a little bit!" he said, as they came within hearing. "Oh, I say, Miss Hilda, just a scrap. You have such lots, you never would miss it. Just a little lock of hair!" Roger Merryweather's face grew very grave. He did not move, but his grasp tightened on the pebble in his hand. "What do you want of it?" said downright Hilda, laughing and tossing her tawny mane. Mrs.
I jes' ris dat ar con' wid my own han' right down de road at my f'ont do', an' po'd de water on hit outer de pump at my back un. I'se monst'ous glad ter praise de Lawd fur what He done done, but I ain' gwine ter gin 'im credit fur de wuk er my own fis' en foot." "Are you going by Jordan's Journey, uncle? I'd like to send Reuben Merryweather's buckwheat to him."
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