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She was silent for a moment. "It's an awful thing to be poor, Daphne real poor. Yet " she said musingly, "even when you're real poor you can always find somethin' to give. Like Mis' Sweet. Did I ever tell you about Mis' Sweet? She lived in our village and she was mortal poor all her life.
"Now, there was Mis' Amaziah Pipperidge, a widder with snappin' black eyes, and a hook nose, kind o' like a hawk; and she was one o' them up-and-down commandin' sort o' women, that feel that they have a call to be seein' to every thing that goes on in the parish, and 'specially to the minister.
Elmira she turned around and seen her, and she gives a whoop and then hollers out: "Hank is dead!" and throws her apern over her head and sets right down in the path and boo-hoos like a baby. And I bellers louder. Mis' Rogers, she never waited to ast nothing more.
And it takes me back and well, I'm a boy again and I can see Mother standing over the stove, and I can smell the hot cakes when I come in from school, and hear her say, 'Jimmie, take your hands out of that crock! No, you can't have but one. Well, two, but no more. Now take that plate over to Mis' Fisher and that one to Miss Corbin "
Up till lately he made more pitchers asleep than he done awake. Take it when things was movin' right along, Mis' Green, 'n' Luck was shore talkative, now I'm tellin' yuh!" "My father, he got one oncle," Annie-Many-Ponies spoke up unexpectedly from her favorite corner. "Big Medicine man. Maybe I write one letter, maybe Noisy-Owl he come, make plenty storm.
Mary Louise descended the cabin steps with the hollow pomp of one who has bought his victory too dearly. Zenie, from the steps, called cheerily: "Mis' Ma'y Louise. You bring me some goods fuh a dress? Sometime when you come up ag'in?" Mary Louise paused at the gate and speculated on the humble creature on whom she had wreaked her will. "I guess I might, Zenie. What kind do you want?"
Purdy, rumor traveled from house to house and from room to room that the rent man was putting the Lewises out. The piquant element in the situation lay in the absence of the chief actor. "Mis' Lewis" herself had disappeared, and nobody knew where she was or when she would return. For many years the little cottage, sandwiched between Mr.
Low cut it carefully into the regulation six pieces, while the children as carefully counted the people and watched the distribution. The result was not satisfactory. The older little girl, whose sense of injury was well developed, set up a shrill demand. "I want a piece of Mis' Bennett's pie," said she. "Mother, I want a piece of Mis' Bennett's pie!"
Frank stood looking after Mis' Molly as she picked her way across the street, until he was recalled to his duty by a sharp word from his father. "'Ten' ter yo' wuk, boy, 'ten' ter yo' wuk. You 're wastin' yo' time wastin' yo' time!" Yes, he was wasting his time. The beautiful young girl across the street could never be anything to him.
Delia said: "Dah! I wonder what she wants now." By this time she was in the kitchen, confronting Delia. Her face was flushed as she screamed out: "What kind of biscuits were those you baked this week?" "I think they were all right, Mis Sarh." "Hush!" screamed out the madam, stamping her foot to make it more emphatic. "You did not half cook them," said she; "they were not beat enough.
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