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This agreement having been arrived at, Myrtella reached for her broom, and began such a vigorous attack on the steps, that Flathers was forced to conclude that his presence could be cheerfully dispensed with. He gathered himself up, slapped his hat on the side of his head, tucked his Bible under his arm, and made a sweeping bow. "Fare thee well, my own true love.
Ole John 'ud slide 'round de road lak a fly on a bald spot." "No matter! I'm going. Hurry!" Myrtella, who was fashioning a dough man, under the personal supervision of Bert, looked up indignantly: "You don't think you are going out in this storm without no lunch, do you?" "I can't eat anything, I'm not hungry." "That's what you said at breakfast.
Aunt Caroline had died in the early spring, and Uncle Jimpson found even the society of Myrtella a relief after his enforced loneliness. He listened with bulging eyes and sagging jaw to her accounts of the latest murders and obeyed her slightest command with a briskness that would have amazed the old Colonel.
Miss Lady said, "if you really want to save her, I think there's a way." "Not a Orphan's Home?" asked Phineas, lifting one eye from the baby's petticoat where his head had been buried. "No, a clean home of her own. There's no reason why you shouldn't go to work, Mr. Flathers, and support your family decently. I'll take Chick home with me. Myrtella will be glad to have him for a little visit. Mrs.
At Thornwood Miss Lady, who had been left in command of a sinking ship, struggled heroically to bring it into port. One day early in July, Myrtella Flathers sat just inside the screen door of the summer kitchen, armed with a fly-spanker and a countenance of impending gloom.
Such an unusual proceeding aroused her curiosity and she returned to the dining-room to peep through the door at her young mistress, who had been sitting motionless since breakfast with her elbows on the table, and her hands locked under her chin. It was evident that something was wrong, and Myrtella became so concerned that she at last decided to take action.
As Myrtella sailed wrathfully into port and docked at the door-step, Maria looked up with a gasp: "Law! Myrtella, you gimme a turn. I forgot this here was your afternoon off. I thought sure you was Sheeley's rent man." "Sheeley's?" repeated Myrtella, her curiosity getting the better of her temper, as she removed an old shoe and a flour sifter from the nearest chair and sat down.
I must say she seems good to Bertie, but I would not tolerate her impertinence for a moment." "Myrtella carries concealed virtues," said the Doctor. "She is an excellent cook, and a good manager. Her only faults, apparently, are faults of the disposition." "From which Heaven defend me! What on earth is that noise? It sounds as if some one were kicking the door."
What makes you shake so, Miss Lady?" Myrtella thrust her head in the door. "Here comes that there Mrs. Ivy running 'cross the yard. She's good fer a hour." But Mrs. Ivy did not seem to be good for anything by the time Miss Lady reached her. She was half reclining on a haircloth sofa in the front hall with a bottle of smelling salts to her nose and a newspaper in her hand.
Suddenly she was aware of some one watching her covertly through the crack of the dining-room door. "Myrtella!" she cried. "Is that you?" "Yes'm, if you please," came in strange, meek accents. "I'd like to speak with you." It was so entirely out of the course of human events for Myrtella to assume humility, that Miss Lady looked at her in amazement.
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