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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Is it anything to be ashamed of doing up a shirt?" she demanded. "Not doing it up like that! That's a work of art!" "A work of heart I did it for Stefana. I've got quite fond of it now, and shall hate to part with it. It's a friend." "A bosom friend," he parried. Again they laughed and grew more acquainted. Miss Theodosia made tea in her dainty Sevres cups.
"You hear, Stefana," said Orlando; "tell your husband that the only advice I have to give him is to return to his clerkship at the post-office, where perhaps he may be of use." What particularly filled the old soldier with indignation and despair was that such a man, a Sacco, should have fallen like a bandit on Rome on that Rome whose conquest had cost so many noble efforts.
Her plaintive reveries took the shape of a sober little dream wherein one Theodosia Baxter tottered on a cane and another walked briskly and youngly among Johns. Both Theodosias were thirty-six. "Mercy!" she exclaimed, waking up. "Where's my cane? I must go and iron Stefana's dresses!" She felt oddly refreshed. Queer dream to refresh one! She found herself thinking kindly of Stefana.
"You hear, Stefana," said Orlando; "tell your husband that the only advice I have to give him is to return to his clerkship at the post-office, where perhaps he may be of use." What particularly filled the old soldier with indignation and despair was that such a man, a Sacco, should have fallen like a bandit on Rome on that Rome whose conquest had cost so many noble efforts.
Though, of course, Stefana says it must 've blew in the window" the tide of speech was coming in once more "an' an' sort of landed on the bed, an' Stefana kind of grabbed it in her sleep, thinking it was Elly Precious. But, mercy gracious!" "Sit down," Miss Theodosia said, smiling. "Doesn't it tire you to talk as fast as that?" "Some," admitted Evangeline, "but I don't mind.
He ain't a pistol-man, but, mercy gracious, how you scare me! You comin' too, Stefana?" "Yes, Stefana can go now. She is all through," which was Miss Theodosia's kind inclusion of Stefana. That, again, was curiously new to Miss Theodosia. Psychological changes were taking place or were they just plain tugs on Miss Theodosia's heartstrings? She sat and sewed.
But, to speak modestly, I call that a pretty neat sentiment to turn out extempo like that. 'Stefana' you can't deny Stefana is a hard word to rhyme with. Now tell me a harder one!" "Evangeline Theodosia," she murmured. Her eyes dwelt lovingly on the little white cake. He should not make fun of it! "I'll decorate it myself," she said, "I'll have a little pink heart on it two little pink hearts."
The Man Person poised his teacup above the saucer, arrested by this new puzzle. "Er grow how?" "Down. She's so terrible grown-up now. It's been pretty wearin' on my nerves. We use' to play dolls together. We don't ever now. She's too starched up." "Poor Stefana with her starch!" murmured Miss Theodosia. The poor little martyr to starch!
"Patching I'm patching!" she laughed to herself. "And here I've been hiring my own mending done! Theodosia Baxter, see what you are doing; you are patching a shirt for a man! No, I'm not, either! I'm doing it for Stefana what are you talking about?" Some one came up her steps and knocked on her open door. But she was too engrossed to hear. The patch underneath had slipped a little askew.
But Evangeline's sober mind continued its line of thought. "Stefana says if you'll hang somethin' red out when you're asleep, or got callers, or anythin', then she'll make us play funeral." "Oh, no not that!" No red flag of warning could justify playing funeral. "Well, Hold-Your-Breath, then. We can't make much noise holding our breaths! Stefana's the champion Hold-Your-Breath-er.
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