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Updated: June 26, 2025
Kane did not have to answer verbally. He thrust forward a bundle. Rhoda seized it and started for the station where there was a room in which she could change her clothes. Before she quite reached the platform the driver spoke his first word: "Thanky, Miss Rhody. I'm fine." Rhoda nodded over her shoulder, laughing at the surprise and amusement of her friends, and disappeared.
I made the Major try it, and he thinks it needs a dash more of rum, but Rhody says she shan't be induced to change it until she has had your advice. Here, Rhody, open the door; I've brought your young lady." The door swung back with a jerk upon the big kitchen, where before the Christmas turkeys toasting on the spit, Aunt Rhody was striding to and fro like an Amazon in charcoal.
The poor girl may be lonesome, as, no doubt, she will be dropped everywhere on my account, and not a soul can I think of, to be my young lady's maid, unless it is Rhody." "Yes, Marster, wid all your money you're pore in friends; in women-friends you is starved." "You may go with me to the church," said Meshach, "I suppose you want to see me married." "Yes, sir. Dat I do!
He was an emaciated, unkempt man, whose movements were in strange contrast with his appearance. He was one of the most trustworthy of General Forrest's scouts, but neither betrayed the fact that he knew the other. On the contrary, the man was both angry and rude. "What'd I tell you, Rhody?" he exclaimed, turning to his wife.
"I dunno whar de beaux done hid deyse'ves dese days; hit's a wonner dey ain' des a-busin' dey sides ter git yer. Marse Dan, now, whynt he come a-prancin' roun' dese yer parts?" Mrs. Lightfoot looked at Betty and saw her colour rise. "That will do, Rhody," she cautioned; "you will let the turkeys burn," but as they moved toward the door, Betty herself paused and looked back.
"I nuver seed no use a-fittin' unless you is gwine ter fit in de yuther pusson's yawd," interpolated Aunt Rhody. "De way ter fit is ter keep a-sidlin' furder f'om yo' own hen roos' en nigher ter de hen roos' er de somebody dat's a-fittin' you." "Hold your tongue, Rhody," retorted Mrs. Lightfoot, and then drew Betty a little to one side.
"And what shall I talk about?" said she. "About Aunt Rhody, or Mr. Gabriel, or I'll tell you the queerest thing, Georgie! Going to now?" "Do be quiet, Faith, and not keep your head flirting about so!" for she'd started up to speak. Then she composed herself once more. "What was I saying? Oh, about that. Yes, Georgie, the queerest thing!
I don't believe a single word you say!" sprang forth a champion valiantly. "She's dreadfully fond of her mother just dreadfully!" "She doesn't know it," promptly returned Rhody Sharp, her voice stabbing poor Margaret's ear like a sharp little sword. "They're keeping it from her. My gran'mother doesn't believe they'd ought to. She says " But nobody cared what Rhody Sharp's gran'mother said.
"I think she's a-sinkin', Doctor," sobbed old Aunt Rhody, the nurse, as she came out of Mary Scranton's bed-room into the clean kitchen, where Doctor Parker sat before the fire, a hand on either knee, staring at the embers, and looking very grave. Doctor Parker got up from the creaky chair, and went into the bed-room.
As though to answer her question, Rhody rolled his pop-eyes toward Wheedles. Of the happy Sunday and happier Christmas day space is too limited to tell. At five P. M. Durand, Ralph, Jean Paul, Bert, Gordon and Doug were obliged to bid their hostesses adieu and return to Annapolis, but each day of Christmas week held its afternoon informal dance at the auditorium, to which Mrs.
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