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In the grove gate the horseman galloped ahead; but Barbara did not once look up until at the porch-steps she saw yellow Willis, the lame ploughman, smiling and limping forward round the corner of the house; Trudie, the house girl, trying to pass him by; Johanna wildly dancing; Aunt Virginia, her hands up, calling to heaven from the red cavern of her mouth; Uncle Leviticus, her husband, Cornelius's step-father, holding the pawing steed; gladness on every face, and the mistress of Rosemont drawing from the horseman's arm to welcome her ragged guest.
"The same people. The son was pleased at our going there and he hasn't minded my fooling round his place and he's given me a lot of points. He makes good furniture himself." "As good as yours?" asked James dryly. "Go on!" retorted Roger. "He's a real joiner rather than a carpenter, but there isn't any chance for a joiner in a town like Rosemont, so he does any kind of carpentering."
"But we can all hunt." "I know some one who might do if she'd be willing and I don't know why she wouldn't," said Ethel Brown. "Who? Who? Some one in Rosemont?" "Right here in Rosemont. Mrs. Schuler." "Mrs. Schuler?" There was a cry of wonder, for Mrs. Schuler was the teacher of German in the high school. She had been engaged to Mr.
"Fitz-James's woods," as they already called the bit of forest that Dorothy hoped to have possession of, extended back from the road and spread until it joined Grandfather Emerson's woods on one side and what was called by the Rosemonters "the West Woods" on the other. The girls walked home by a path that took them into Rosemont not far from the station where Della was to take the train.
Her father had said so with an icy venom which flashed fire as he added, "But if you quit Rosemont now, so help me God, you shall never own it, if I have to put it to the torch on my dying bed!" She heard something and stepped into hiding. What rider could be coming at this hour? John March? Henry Fair? It was neither. As he passed in at the gate she shrank, gasped, and presently followed.
At each rider's saddle swung an old carpet-bag stuffed with John's clothes. His best were on him. "Maybe they're not the latest cut, son, or the finest fit, but you won't mind; you're not a girl. A man's dress is on'y a sort o' skin, anyhow; a woman's is her plumage. And, anyhow, at Rosemont you'll wear soldier clothes. Look out son, I asked yo' dear motheh to mend "
I'll take your note, secured by land, for the money you need to put John through Rosemont, and you needn't pay it till you get ready. If you never get ready, I reckon John'll pay it some day."
You're eminently right, sir." Mr. Ravenel only smiled, was silent for a while, and then said, "But even if it were I had an impression that you thought you'd sort o' promised John to Rosemont?" The Judge straightened up, distressed. "Mr. Ravenel, I have! I have, sir! It's true; it's true!" "I don't think you did, Judge, you only expressed an intention."
His eyes came round at last to the most western quarter of the landscape and rested on one part where only a spray had dashed when war's fiery deluge rolled down this valley. "Son, if there wa'n't such a sort o' mist o' sunshine between, I could show you Rosemont College over yondeh. You'll be goin' there in a few years now. That'll be fine, won't it, son?"
Now, who are these prospective purchasers you mentioned, and just how prospective, in terms of United States currency, are they?" "Well, for one, there's Arnold Rivers; he's offering ten thousand for the collection. I suppose you know of him; he has an antique-arms business at Rosemont." "I've done some business with him," Rand admitted. "Who else?"
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