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Updated: June 25, 2025
"We're going to cut apricots and peaches to help the heathen!" announced Rosella. Mother nodded. "We'll have a whole lot of money in our mite boxes when we carry them back," said Rosella. "We'll see," said mother. For two or three mornings Rosella and Drew rose early, and after breakfast hurried to the cutting-sheds to work. But, after a while, Rosella and Drew grew tired.
Her words seemed to come of themselves, and she almost physically felt herself withdraw from the responsibility of what this other material Rosella Beltis was saying. "I don't know," said the other Rosella. "I should not care to say so soon. You see there are so many manuscripts. I generally trust to the first impression on the second reading."
She was the Chinese girl, Louie Ming, whose father and mother had come from the city to cook for some of the owners here. "Louie Ming's got a mite box!" said Rosella. Drew laughed. "Do you suppose she'll save anything in it?" "I don't believe she will," said Rosella. Rosella and Drew carried their mite boxes into their mother's tent.
He extended an inky hand, and still holding it and talking, led her to an easy-chair near the hearth. Even through the perturbation of her mind Rosella could not but wonder for the hundredth time at the apparent discrepancy between the great novelist and the nature of his books.
"'No, indeed, replied the person thus addressed, a blonde of exquisite coloring. 'No, indeed. The only music one hears there is the chink of silver dollars. Ha! ha! ha! ha!" Rosella winced as if in actual physical anguish. "And the author calls it a 'social satire'!" she exclaimed. "How can she! How can she!" She turned to the next.
Not I! The scorching sunlight streams through the open door of the inn the thirsty flies buzz with persistent loudness some voices are singing "La Fata di Amalfi" I can distinguish the words "Chiagnaro la mia sventura Si non tuorne chiu, Rosella! Tu d' Amalfi la chiu bella, Tu na Fata si pe me! That is a true song, Nina mia! "Non c'e Stella comm' a te!" What did Guido say?
Drew, she's been working in the cutting-sheds every time I've been there. She didn't cut fruit till she got her mite box. There, she's given every cent!" When Louie Ming looked up, and suddenly discovered Rosella and Drew, she looked half scared. Rosella stepped toward the tent, and said: "What made you give all your money? Why didn't you save some? You've worked hard for it.
I've read it." At once another man was before her, or rather the writer the novelist in the man. Something of the dignity of his literary style immediately seemed to invest him with a new character. He fell quiet, grave, not a little abstracted, and Rosella felt her heart sink. But the verdict, the verdict!
The narrative is all there, and I have nothing but good words to say to you about the construction, the mere mechanics of it. But " Would he never go on? What was this? What did that "But" mean? What else but disaster could it mean? Rosella shut her teeth. "But, to speak frankly, my dear girl, there is something lacking. Oh, the idea, the motif that " he held up a hand.
She would have to live up to that decision, whatever it was, for many months to come, perhaps for years. Perhaps, who could say? perhaps it might affect her character permanently. In a crisis little forces are important, disproportionately so. And then it was, and thus it was, that Rosella took her resolve.
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