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Updated: June 25, 2025
Rusker, with the fateful bottle in the bosom of her dress, betook herself again to Mountain Farm.
Julia's reception of this brilliant scheme, which Mrs. Rusker developed with a volubility which left no opportunity for detailed objection, was to fall back in her chair and begin to cry anew at the sheer hopeless absurdity of it. 'What's the matter wi' the wench? demanded Mrs. Rusker, almost sternly.
'You wanted to see me, father, she asked, trembling. 'I sent for you. Mrs. Rusker was in a state of pitiable excitement, if anybody had had the leisure to notice her. 'Theer's some'at happened to-day as it's fit an' right as yo' should know. I met ode Raybould today i' th' Exchange, an' he tode me some'at as I'd long suspected, about his son Tom. I reckon you know what it was.
She entered the house by the back door, and made straight for the sitting-room. Mrs. Mountain was there, arranging a tray, on which were tea and jam and other homely luxuries. She wore her ordinary look of placid contentment, and at the sight of her quiet face Mrs. Rusker dropped panting, with a vague unformulated feeling of relief, into a chair. 'Sakes alive!
Jenny Rusker, as she went in the warm evening air towards the little eminence on which stood the long low-built house of Samson Mountain, already a-twinkle with occasional lights in the gloom, its own bulk cast against the fast-fading band of sunset. Mrs.
Julia, a lithe, graceful girl, rose at the query from the other side of the little table, and came to Mrs. Rusker's side. 'Why, you're cryin', continued the elder woman. 'What is it, my dear, as has upset you i' this wise? 'Well, my dear, said Mrs. Rusker, wiping her eyes and smoothing her dress, as if her grief was done with and put away, 'it ain't a trouble as I expects sympathy from you in.
Rusker argued and reasoned, but finding her fears too obdurate to be moved by any such means, left the house in dudgeon, whereat poor Julia only cried the more. But Mrs. Rusker's confidence in her plan was unshaken, and her persistency unchecked.
It stood by itself in a bare hollow, an unpicturesque and barn-like cottage, not altogether weather-proof. It fell upon a day that Mrs. Jenny Rusker drove over from Castle Barfield to pay Rufus a visit. She rode in a smart little trap, the kind of thing employed by the better sort of rustic tradesmen, and drove a smart little pony.
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