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"John," said Farmer Foddershucks to his college-bred son, who was home on a vacation, "hev ye noticed Si Mullet's oldest gal lately? Strikes me she's gettin' ter be a right likely critter, hey?" "She's as beautiful as Hebe," agreed John enthusiastically. "Aw, shucks!" grunted Farmer F. "She's a blame sight purtier 'n he be. Why, he ain't no beauty. She gits it f'm her mother's folks."
It seemed to me like the predecessor of Kitty, which was a black Persian; he had the same habit of coming in at night by this window, and he constantly rushed through the room, and downstairs, being in a hurry for his supper. A moment or two afterwards the grey cat walked slowly in, and though we searched the house, we could find no other. Letter 2 Fräulein Mullet's Story
We crossed Elnathan Mullet's bridge and continued down the Shore Lane. Suddenly I was aware that she had not spoken for some minutes. "Eh? Yes, Miss Colton; what is it?" I stammered. Then I realized that we were standing beside the granite posts marking the entrance to the Colton grounds.
But Matilda or Nellie at their grandest could not have appeared as well dressed as this girl, no matter what she wore. Just now she looked, as Lute or Dorinda might have said, "as if she came out of a band box." "Good morning," she said, again. She was perfectly self-possessed. Remembrance of our transit of Mullet's cranberry brook did not seem to embarrass her in the least.
Keith who put the idea in your head. How perfectly silly!" "Silly? Why is it silly?" "Because it is. It's ridiculous." "No, it ain't, it's common sense. Other girls go to city finishin' schools, don't they? That Irene Mullet's just gone, for one. Don't you think we figger to do as much for our girl as Becky Mullet can do for hers? Jumpin' fire!
The shaky bridge over Mullet's cranberry brook was just ahead. Then, without warning, the black night split wide open, a jagged streak of fire shot from heaven to earth and seemed to explode almost in our faces. I was almost knocked off my feet and my fingers tingled as if I had been holding the handles of an electric battery.
I'd have swapped my horse and buggy for Noah's Ark that night and wouldn't have asked any boot neither. Did you see Mullet's bridge? Elnathan says he cal'lates he's got willow kindlin' enough to last him all summer. Ready split too the lightnin' attended to that. Lute Rogers don't talk about nothin' else.
After all, there were some consolations in being alive and in a state of health not "debilitated." I began to whistle. A quarter of a mile from the junction of the Shore Lane, on the Lower Road, was a willow-shaded spot, where the brook which irrigated Elnathan Mullet's cranberry swamp ran under a small wooden bridge.
To school, or college? Didn't I hear that Christopher Mullet's daughter was at school in Bridgewater?" "Ugh!" grunted Shadrach again. "I cal'late you did hear. If you didn't you're the only one in town that ain't. Becky Mullet yes, and Chris, too ain't done anything but brag about their Irene's goin' off to what they call 'finishin' school. Judas! I see HER finish.
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