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Mr Goodwin shook his head. "Anna will never be famous in that way," he said. "She has a sweet, affectionate manner, but there's nothing that reminds me of her mother at all, or of our family. It's quite an effort to realise that she is Prissy's child. It's a very curious feeling." "Have you seen her often?" asked Delia. "Only twice.
I don't like those girls," and, greatly to Donald's alarm, she put her head on the arm of the sofa and began to cry. In an instant she felt Aunt Prissy's arm about her, and heard the kind voice say: "Never mind, dear child. Don't think about them." After a little Aunt Prissy persuaded Faith to lie down and rest until supper time.
Something tells me it was Prissy's daughter." "Nonsense, Julia," replied Mrs Winn; "she's not expected till to-morrow. Mrs Forrest told Mrs Hunt so herself. Besides, how should Mr Oswald have anything to do with meeting her? That was his own little girl with him, I daresay." "Daisy Oswald has close-cropped, black hair," replied Miss Gibbins, quite unshaken in her opinion.
Did you hear what Kashaqua says: that she will take me to Aunt Prissy's to-morrow?" said Faith. The Indian woman had turned quickly, and her sharp little eyes were fixed on Mrs. Carew's face. "You 'fraid let little girl go with Kashaqua?" she said, a little accusing note in her voice. "No, indeed. Kashaqua would take good care of Faith. I know that. But to-morrow " Mrs.
Scudder looked reprovingly at Miss Prissy, and for a few moments there was great shaking of heads and a whispered conference between the two ladies, ending in Miss Prissy's going off, saying, as she went down-stairs, "Well, if women will do so, I, for my part, can't blame the men." In a few moments Miss Prissy rushed back as much discomposed as a clucking hen who has seen a hawk.
Twenty years ago Stephen Clark had tried to go with Prissy Strong. That was pretty soon after Prissy's father had died. She and Emmeline were living alone together. Emmeline was thirty, ten years older than Prissy, and if ever there were two sisters totally different from each other in every way, those two were Emmeline and Prissy Strong.
"I'll go now," she said, and, still holding the dress, walked out of the room. She no longer felt afraid. As she went down the stairs she thought over all Aunt Prissy's goodness toward her. "I'll tell her that I can wear my other dress for best," she decided. The boys were already in bed; Mr.
Scudder and Miss Prissy were sitting, talking earnestly, on the foot of the bed, when the door opened noiselessly, and Mary glided to them like a spirit, no color in check or lip, her blue eyes wide with calm horror; and laying her little hand, with a nervous grasp, on Miss Prissy's arm, she said, "Tell me, what is it? is it? is he dead?" The two women looked at each other, and then Mrs.
A great net of golden-brown silk that Leslie had begged Mrs. Linceford, who liked netting, to make, gathered into strong, large meshes the unruly wealth of hair brushed back in rippling lines from Prissy's temples, and showing so its brighter, natural color from underneath, where the outside had grown sun-faded.
We have been thus minute in sketching Miss Prissy's portrait, because we rather like her. She has great power, we admit; and were she a sour-faced, angular, energetic body, with a heart whose secretions had all become acrid by disappointment and dyspepsia, she might be a fearful gnome, against whose family-visitations one ought to watch and pray.
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