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Updated: June 28, 2025
The pride of these ruffles leveled by the dew; my wristbands in disarray; the odor of the road pervading my person! The trunks, I pray you!" "Yes, sir; at once, sir! But first let me introduce you to Mr. Saint-Prosper, of Paris, France. Make yourselves at home, gentlemen!"
"And the minister?" asked Saint-Prosper, mechanically. "He brought her; he compromised on a Roundhead costume, himself! But we must be off. Au revoir; don't be backward; the ladies are all military-mad. It may be a field of arms" casting his glance over the assemblage of fashionably dressed ladies, with a quizzical smile "but not hostile arms! Come, Celestina Nydia, I mean!"
Unnoticed passed the eruption before the gaze of Saint-Prosper, whose mind in a torpor swept dully back to youth's roseate season, recalling the homage of the younger for the elder brother, a worship as natural as pagan adoration of the sun. From the sanguine fore-time to the dead present lay a bridge of darkness.
On the outskirts of the gathering, near the road, stood a tall, beetling individual whom Saint-Prosper addressed, reining in his horse near the wooden rail, which answered for a fence. "Dinna ye ken I'm listening?" impatiently retorted the other, with a fierce frown. "Gang your way, mon," he added, churlishly, as he turned his back.
and finally, softer and softer, until the melody melted into silence: "Praise Him above, ye Heavenly H-o-s-t " "One good turn deserves another," said Barnes to Saint-Prosper, when Susan and Kate had likewise retired. "Follow me, sir to the kitchen! No questions; but come!"
"We have been together for some time, Mr. Saint-Prosper," he said, at length. "We have gone through fair and rough weather, and" he paused a moment before continuing "should understand each other. You asked me when you came in if you were interrupting me, and I told you that you were not. As a matter of fact, you were." And, walking to a table, Barnes took up the notebook.
In the heart of the enemy's land, amid the uncertainties of war, remembrance carried them back to their native soil, rugged New England, the hills of Vermont, the prairies of Illinois, the blue grass of Kentucky. "Saint-Prosper!" they cried, calling on him, when the festivities were at their height. "To you, gentlemen," he replied, rising, glass in hand. "I drink to your loved ones!"
Making his way by this dizzy saturnalia and avoiding the pranks of animated hosiery and the more ponderous frolics of over-alls, sheets and tablecloths, Saint-Prosper entered the kitchen. Here the farm hand and maid of all work were eating, and the landlord's rotund and energetic wife was bustling before the fireplace.
This sudden glow brought into relief his ragged, unkempt condition, the sallowness of his face, and his wasted form, and Saint-Prosper could not but contrast pityingly this cheerless object, in the garb of a ranchero, with the prepossessing, sportive heir who had driven through the Shadengo Valley.
Judging from the wrathful faces directed toward him, the lease-holders esteemed Saint-Prosper a political disturber, affiliating with the other faction of the Democratic party, and bent, perhaps, on creating dissension at the tenants' camp-fire.
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