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Updated: June 3, 2025
"I think we have talked enough about it," she said. "But I want to tell you something." "Why don't you tell it, then?" "I know you thought I did something awful, running across the yard and coming here in the night the way I did, and showing you that I I, well, that I minded George Ramsey's coming home with you; but look here, Maria, I had a little reason."
Eagerly as we were looking out for it, we passed the great Ramsey's without knowing it, for it was the first of a little settlement of two houses and a saw-mill and barn. It was a neat log house of two lower rooms and a summer kitchen, quite the best of the class that we saw, and the pleasant mistress of it made us welcome.
When the scholars were all in their places, she opened her lips to express her mind to them, but a second's reflection seemed to show her the futility of it. Instead, she called the geography class. After school that night, Maria, instead of going home, went straight to Jessy Ramsey's home, which was about half a mile from the school-house.
"No," replied Maria, and as she spoke she realized, in the moonlit room, a mass of fur-lined cloak over a chair. She had forgotten to return it to George Ramsey. "I had Mrs. Ramsey's cloak coming home," she called. "Well, I'm glad you did. It's awful early to go to bed. Don't you want something?" "No, thank you." "Don't you want me to heat a soapstone and fetch it up to you?" "No, thank you."
Throughout the term Ramsey's calculation of probabilities against the happening of another interview with Dora seemed to be well founded, but at the beginning of the second "semester" he found her to be a fellow member of a class in biology.
I would have as much as a queen if I had him," cried Evelyn. "What do you think I care about pretty things, or even food and life itself, when it comes to anything like this? Live in a house like the Ramsey's! I would live in a cave. I would live on the street, and I should never know it was not a palace. Maria, you do know that I love him, don't you?" "Yes, I know that you think you do."
We had left behind the hotels of "perfect satisfaction," and expected to live on the country, trusting to the infrequent but remunerated hospitality of the widely scattered inhabitants. We were to dine at Ramsey's.
Through the long haze of misted sea-miles and the smoke of land-miles she perceived that brown line of ours, and knew it stood there that Freedom, and the Nation itself, might not perish from the earth. And so, a week later, she went home, and came nervously to Ramsey's mother and found how to direct the letter she wanted to write. He was in France.
Refreshed by the honey and fodder at Ramsey's, the pilgrims went gayly along the musical Laurel, in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun, which played upon the rapids and illumined all the woody way.
Ramsey's carriage team was early taken possession of by the military squad, and when the driver gravely informed the officer in charge that the governor was the owner of that team and he thought it exempt from military duty, he was suavely informed that a power higher than the governor required that team and that it must go to Abercrombie. And it did.
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