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Updated: May 25, 2025
Even if we hadn't known, we'd have guessed there was something in the air. There was an air of subdued excitement during the rest hour in the spring-house, and a good bit of whispering and laughing, in groups which would break up with faces as long as the moral law the moment they saw my eye on them.
This'll be a plenty, if we kin only git some buttermilk to go with it. We don't want no meat. We git plenty o' that in camp." "You can have all the buttermilk you want to drink," she answered, "if you'll go down to the spring-house thar and git it. It's fresh, and you'll find a gourd right beside o' the jar. I'd go with you, but it allers gives me rheumatiz to go nigh the spring-house."
"Sooner or later, Woman, you'll have to take a mate," was the primitive statement that confronted me as I lifted the pot with the skirt of my blouse and poured the greens into two brown crockery bowls that Adam kept secreted with the pot on a ledge of the old spring-house. "Well, a husky young farmer is the only kind of a man who need apply. I mean a born rustic.
Beyond that, and lower still, a lilied pond widened out of the sluggish brook with a cool and rustic spring-house at one end. The spring-house was thatched, with windows looking out upon the water. Long after, when I went to France, I was reminded of the shy beauty of this part of my old home by the secluded pond of the Little Trianon.
Convicting us out of our own mouths." I held my breath and the knob rattled. Then they found a glass for Miss Patty and forgot the pantry. Under cover of the next burst of noises I tried the pantry window, but it was frozen shut. Nothing but a hammer would have loosened it. I began to dig at it with a wire hairpin, but I hadn't much hope. The fun in the spring-house was getting fast and furious.
" 'Druther drink out of a tin er jest a fruit-can with the top knocked off er er er a gourd," he added in a zestful, reminiscent tone of voice, that so heightened my impatient thirst that I reached the spring-house fairly in a run.
Jack, peeping in at the window which opened upon the porch, saw her there, huddled upon the bed. In the spring-house his mother sat crying silently over her helplessness, and failed to respond to his comforting pats upon the shoulder.
He and Mr. von Inwald limped across the tennis-court and collapsed on the steps of the spring-house while the others went on to the sanatorium. I had been brushing the porch, and I leaned on my broom and looked at them. "You're both looking a lot better," I said. "Not so well, not so beer-y. How do you like it by this time?" "Fine!" answered Mr. Thoburn. "Wouldn't stay if I didn't like it."
At that instant a little barefooted negro came running across the lawn from the spring-house, a large tin pail in his hand. "Here, boy!" called the general. "Where're you off to? What have you got in that pail?" "It's Jake," said Eugenia in a whisper, while Jim barked frantically from the shelter of her arms. "He's Delphy's Jake."
"What was that noise?" said Mr. Thoburn, almost upon us. "Something's moving inside that fence corner." "It's them deers," Mike's voice this time. We could make out the three figures. "Darned nuisance, them deers is. They'd have been shot long ago if the spring-house girl hadn't objected. She thinks she's the whole cheese around here." "Set it down again," Mr. von Inwald panted.
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