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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Was he heading this way?" the Judge asked. "I want him to look at my peach trees and tell me what in tunket ails them." "Why, Judge, I'm surprised at you, and before the children, too." Cousin Roxy's eyes twinkled with mirth at having caught the Judge in a lapse. "I only said tunket, Roxy," he began, but Cousin Roxy cut him short.
"Why, you don't!" burst in different tones from each of the women. "I thought you said that blackberry-root tea was good," said Mrs. Kittridge. "I understood that you 'proved of ma'sh rosemary," said Miss Roxy, touched in her professional pride. "And I am sure, brother, that I have heard you say, often and often, that there wasn't a better gargle than rose leaves and vitriol," said Miss Emily.
I force myself to eat, and I force myself to talk and laugh, and it's all pretense; and it wears me out, it would be better if I stopped trying, it would be better to give up and act as weak as I feel; but how can I let them know?" "My dear child," said Aunt Roxy, "the truth is the kindest thing we can give folks in the end.
But the grave was overgrown with blackberry-vines, and gray moss had grown into the crevices of the slab which served for a tombstone, and never before that day had she heard Miss Roxy speak of her. Miss Roxy took down the little black object and handed it to Mara. "You can't tell much by that, but she was a most beautiful creatur'. Well, it's all best as it is."
"I didn't mean it, Roxy; I take it all back, and I'll never say it again! Please come back, Roxy!" The woman stood a moment, then she said gravely: "Dat's one thing you's got to stop, Valet de Chambers. You can't call me Roxy, same as if you was my equal. Chillen don't speak to dey mammies like dat.
"Cousin Emeline!" whispered Roxy, "do you hear that?" "What is it?" inquired Emeline, revealing no emotion. "It's Brother Strang serenading." "How do you know?" "Because he is the only man on Beaver who can play the fiddle like that." Roxy gave herself over to unrestrained giggling. "A man fifty years old!" "I don't believe it," responded Emeline, sharply. "Don't believe he is nearly fifty?
Tell it," commanded Roxy, from the cradle, where she was drowsily cuddled with Rhody. "Well, a long time ago, when Charles the First was in prison, Lord Bassett was a true friend to him," began Eph, plunging into his story without delay.
"Well, well, Roxy, you can always talk, every body knows," said Aunt Hitty, who had been not the least attentive listener of this little patriotic harangue; "but, you see, the tea is getting cold, and yonder I see the sleigh is at the door, and John's come; so let's set up our chairs for supper."
Even when the baby lay in its cradle, and its dark, inquiring eyes would follow now one object and now another, the gossips would say the child was longing for something, and Miss Roxy would still further venture to predict that that child always would long and never would know exactly what she was after.
I hasn't much of any; only all things is possible with God. If you could kind o' give it all up and rest easy in His hands, and keep a-doin' what you can, why, while there's life there's hope, you know; and if you are to be made well, you will be all the sooner." "Aunt Roxy, it's all right; I know it's all right.
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