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It's funny why the very plain things cost such a lot. I like the black hat with your white hair. Yes, I consent to take you out; I don't mind owning you for my missus. Children, come and admire Auntie Jan." Jan dutifully delivered a card at the vicarage, and the nursery party left her to walk up the Manor drive alone.
Joanna watched for a moment without speaking; then suddenly she broke out: "Socknersh, I hear it's said that the new lambs ull be poor in wool." "They're saying it, missus, but it äun't true." "I don't care if it's true or not. You shouldn't ought to tell my gal Martha such things before you tell me." Socknersh's eyes opened wide, and the other men looked up from their work.
Agatha woke with the sunshine full in her eyes, and the early church-bells ringing. "Oh, where am I? What day is this? Where is my husband?" The new maid, Nathanael's foster-sister, was standing by, smiling all respectful civilities, informing her in broad Dorset that it was Sunday, time for "missus" to get up, and that "master" was walking in the garden.
Fairleigh and nussed his daughter Madge. De white folks wont good to me. My marster was a good man but my missus wont no good woman. She uster box my ears, stick pins in me and tie me ter de cedar chest and whoop me as long as she wanter. Oh, how I did hate dat woman. "Yes, once in my life I seed a ghost.
"Who stole yer noo rope!" cried the fellow, giving me another shake; "what d'yer mean?" "He took our rope off the cart in Covent Garden this morning," I cried, feeling angry now. "Why, he ain't been out o' the court this morning," said the fellow sharply; "have yer, Micky?" "No, father," said the boy. "Jest up, ain't he, missus?" continued my captor, turning to the heavy-eyed woman.
What's he to Daddy Darwin of t' Dovecot yonder?" "He owns t' Dovecot. Did ye see t' lass?" "Aye. Shoo's his missus, I reckon?" "Aye." "What did they call her?" "Phoebe Shaw they called her. And if she'd been my lass but that's nother here nor there, and he's got t' Dovecot." "Shaw? They're old standards, is Shaws. Phoebe? They called her mother Phoebe. Phoebe Johnson. She were a dainty lass!
Well, de next mornin' Massa Nelson told him to put on his coat and follow him, and he toted him down to old M'Affee's pen, and sold him to go down some river way down South; and I have cum dis mornin'," she said, looking up inquiringly into Mrs. Jennings's face, "to see if you, Missus, or Massa Jennings, wouldn't do something for him." "Well, Hasty, I'm sorry, very sorry for you," said Mrs.
Can't go out in that gale again; not such a fool." Then with a sly look at her trembling form and white face he insinuatingly added, "All alone, missus?" The suddenness with which this was put, together with the leer that accompanied it, made her start. Alone? Yes, but should she acknowledge it? Would it not be better to say that her husband was up-stairs.
An' goin' through his letters, the missus comes across a portrait an' a locket of hair, an' letters from his mother an' sisters an' girl; an' they upset her, an' she blubbers agin, an' gits sentimental like she useter long ago when we was first married.
"'Now, sais missus, 'Sorrow, it's werry genteel to travel wid one's own cook; but it is werry ongenteel when de cook can't do nuffin' super-superior; for bad cooks is plenty eberywhere widout travellin' wid 'em. It brings disgrace. "'Exactly, Missus, sais I, 'when you and me was up to de president's plantation, his cook was makin' plum pudden, he was.
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