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Updated: June 16, 2025
She remembered how Septima would send her to the brook for water, and how she sprinkled every flower in the path-way that bore her name; and how Septima would scold her when she returned with her bucket scarce half full; and how she had loved to dream away those sunny summer days, lying under the cool, shady trees, listening to the songs the robins sang as they glanced down at her with their little sparkling eyes.
Septima had recovered from her grief during the winter and had become normally cheerful before she was assigned to me. I found her constitutionally merry, very good company, always diligent, a surpassing cook, magical with the garden, especially with her beloved flowers, a capable needle-woman, always neat, and very good- looking. We got on famously together.
"I I must go!" "I say you shall not," cried Septima, planting herself firmly before her. "You shall not leave this house to-night." "You have no right to keep me here," panted Daisy. "I am I am " The words died away on her lips. Rex had told her she must not tell just yet. "You are a rash little fool," cried Septima, wrathfully.
I am not going to tell her name, but a jest we had between us led me to call her by the pet name of Septima. If she had been a free-woman, she would have been described as a young widow. Her former mate, one of the horse-wranglers, had been killed by Selinus the previous autumn. Their child, not a year old, had died before his father.
"That is well," growled Brinnarius, "and I'll send my girl to her aunt Septima's." Brinnaria sprang up. "Aunt Septima's?" she cried. "Spinach and mallows and a tiny roast lark for dinner every day. I'll starve to death And prim! I'd almost as lief be a Vestal!" To her luxurious but austerely managed villa, Aunt Septima welcomed Brinnaria with heartfelt, if repressed affection.
"No!" replies Pluma, in a low, soft, guarded whisper. "I wished to see you my business is most important may I come in?" "Certainly," answered Septima, awkwardly. "I beg your pardon, miss, for keeping you standing outside so long."
"What have you been saying to my little Daisy that I find her in tears?" "I was telling her if she did not mend her willful ways she might turn out like her moth " "Hush!" exclaimed John Brooks, excitedly. "I shouldn't have thought you would have dared say that. What does Daisy know of such things?" he muttered, indignantly. "Don't let your senses run away with you, Septima."
"I wonder what she would say if she knew I was Daisy Brooks no longer, but Mrs. Rex Lyon?" she thought, untying the blue ribbons of her hat. And she laughed outright as she thought how amazed Septima would look; and the laugh sounded like the ripple of a mountain brook.
"Don't let your senses run away with you, John Brooks. Haven't you the sense to know Daisy is getting too big for you to take on your knee and pet in that fashion? I am really ashamed of you. Daisy is almost a woman!" snapped Septima, scornfully "quite sixteen."
"Well!" said Septima, sharply, "this is a pretty time of night to come dancing home, leaving me all alone with the baking! If I hadn't my hands full of dough I'd give your ears a sound boxing! I'll see you're never out after dark again, I'll warrant." For a moment Daisy's blue eyes blazed, giving way to a roguish smile.
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