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Updated: May 17, 2025
So these dear little squirrels returned to their forest home, and may be living there yet. "Nurse," said Lady Mary, "how do you like the story?" Mrs. Frazer said it was a very pretty one. "Perhaps my dear little pet is one of Nimble or Silvy's children.
At a signal from Uncle Squeaky, the little band began to play Silvy's Waltz. It was late when they had played all the music they could remember. The moonlight cast long shadows over the dewy grass and even the Frog Orchestra was hushed and listening. "Now your Uncle Hezekiah will play a goodnight jig."
"Nurse," said Lady Mary, "how do you like the story?" Mrs. Frazer said it was a very pretty one. "Perhaps my dear little pet is one of Nimble or Silvy's children. You know, nurse, they might have gone on their travels too, when they were old enough, and then your brother may have chopped down the tree, and found them in the forest."
This, though of course it was "not to be endured," might have been accidental, and so was very "tolerable" in comparison with Silvy's next exploits of poisoning the beloved house-dog and throwing by the roadside the bottle of wine possibly emptied first the jar of jelly and the fresh quarter of lamb which had been sent to a poor and sick old woman.
'Ha! ha! and behind his sleeve, too. Such things are damnable!" Silvy's dulcet tones ran over that hard word with the mildest and softest of accents. "And they bring wine," she continued. "Silvy cl'ared off the table one night. She heard 'em sing, and they says to him, 'What about pretty Beck? and he says 'We must have a little fun, you know, ha! ha! and then, 'ha! ha! behind his sleeve.
Silvy's got a key. She keeps things all locked up, Silvy does. Emily don't have any key. She talks she talks all over don't you tell but Silvy lives with Emily so bad," said Silvy, heaving a gentle sigh and speaking in a tone of the deepest confidence; "so bad not to have any key." "That's true, I think," said I, beginning to find my strange companion rather interesting. "Yes."
The scene, the vividness of these words had not yet faded in the least from Silvy's memory. "Then," said she; "they keep on talkin', terribly. But Silvy she hears so much poor Silvy! She goes 'round very still, 'nother way. Silvy's tired." And, as unceremoniously as she had approached me, she turned and walked slowly back to her old position before the fire. She did not look at me.
After hearing Silvy's story, I believed that Mr. Rollin had acted a heartless and unmanly part towards Rebecca, made love to her which he could not doubt the poor girl took in earnest, and even promises which he knew he should lightly break sometime, and then, for his own purposes, he begged her to keep silence.
Wee and Squealer played in the grape-vine swing. Wink, Wiggle and Buster were over watching their big brothers bring stones for Debby's fireplace. They sewed for a long time, squealing merrily now and then as they pricked their tiny paws. Teenty borrowed Silvy's scissors to cut some thread. A strange idea popped into her head as she used those sharp, shiny scissors.
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