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Updated: June 17, 2025
The envelope was dirty and weather-beaten, but to a certain extent the redwood chips under which it had lain hidden had served to protect it, and the writing on the face was still legible. The envelope was empty and addressed to Jules Rondeau, care of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, Sequoia, California. Bryce read and reread that address. "Rondeau!" he muttered. "Jules Rondeau!
"My woods-boss, Jules Rondeau, makes them keep the peace," Pennington replied with a small smile. "If there's any fighting to be done, he does it." "You mean among his own crew, of course," Bryce suggested. "No, he's in charge of the mad-train, and whether a fight starts among your men or ours, he takes a hand.
"Aunt Dilsey," said he, "’pears to me you have an uncommon good form, for one as plump and healthy-like as you are." Aunt Dilsey was quite sensitive whenever her size was alluded to, and she replied rather sharply: "You git along, you bar’s ile skullcap. ’Twon’t be healthy for you to poke fun at me." "’Pon my word," said the mischievous Rondeau, "I ain’t poking fun at you. I do really think so.
"Come in," said the doctor, and Aunt Dilsey entered. In a very sad tone, she commenced telling how "that ’tarnal Rondeau was raising Cain in the kitchen. He’s kissed Leffie, and me too!" "Kissed you, has he?" said Dr. Lacey. "Yes, sar, he done that ar very thing, spang on the mouth," said Dilsey.
It proved to be Claib; and Leffie, who was rather near-sighted, strained her eyes to see if Rondeau, too, was on the box. "Thar’s nobody in that ar," said Dilsey. "Reckon the boat has run into the ground, or bust her riggin’; so, Leffie, you’ve put on your pink dress for nothin’." The elder Mr.
Sara Rondeau, crouching by the door, hears this with an undefined fear which paralyses her for a moment, but leaves one thought in her troubled mind. Some foul plot is hatching against Antoine, and she is powerless to hinder it. No one thing she can do, if only she can creep back unnoticed. She will use all her strength to reach Mr. Dormeur's house, and tell him what she has heard.
But she supplemented it as follows: My pretty puss, my solace and delight, To celebrate thy loveliness aright I ought to call to life the bard who sung Of Lesbia's sparrow with so sweet a tongue; But 'tis in vain to summon here to me So famous a dead personage as he, And you must take contentedly to-day This poor rondeau that Cupid wafts your way.
With the utmost deference, he awaits the commands of his master. "Well, Rondeau," said Dr. Lacey, "haven’t you finished breakfast yet?" "Yes, marster," answered Rondeau, with a very low bow. "I’ve got through a moment since. What can I do for you. Will you ride this morning?" "No," answered Dr.
She would frequently sit at the piano one of the few pieces of furniture contained in this apartment, and play for Rosas Oriental melodies that would transport him far away in thought, to the open desert, by the slow lulling of David's Caravane, then abruptly change to that familiar air, that rondeau of the Variétés that he hummed yonder, on his dunghill, forsaken
Lacey finished reading the letter she said to Leffie, who was still standing near, "Rondeau is well, and will be home in a few days." "When’s the new miss a comin’?" asked Aunt Dilsey. "Not at all," was Mrs. Lacey’s reply. "Glad on’t," said Dilsey, "for now Jack can spit as fur and as big spits as he wants to."
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