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Updated: May 18, 2025
"I hope you don't feel hurt with me; I've only been honest, and I meant to be kind," said Frank Sunderline. "No, indeed; I dare say you did," returned Marion. "After all, everybody has got to judge for themselves. I was silly to think anybody could help me."
Sunderline was as nice and cosy as could be but she never went out herself, and her whole family consisted of herself, her sister, Aunt Lora, the tailoress, and her son, the young carpenter, whom Sylvie could not help discerning was much noted and discussed among the womenkind, old and young, as a village what shall I say, since I cannot call my honest, manly Frank Sunderline a village beau?
They were of cross-barred muslin, for every day, cheap and pretty and fresh; black silk ones replaced them upon serious occasions. This was their house wear; in the street they contented themselves with their plain basquines; and I think if anybody missed the bunches and festoons, it was only as Frank Sunderline said, with an unexplained impression of the absence of a "snarl."
Then it was something that Frank Sunderline should see that Ray would let her be her friend; that she was not altogether too loud and pronounced for her. Ray did not turn aside and look at wood-piles, and get rid of her. Furthermore, the way home from the Dorbury depot, for Frank and Marion both, lay past the bakery, on down the under-hill road.
Frank Sunderline and Ray were to live here for a year; they were to be married the first of March. Frank had said that Ray would have to manage him and the Bakery too, and Ray was prepared to fulfill both obligations. She was going to carry out here, with Luclarion Grapp, her idea of public supply for the chief staple of food.
Sunderline laughed. "Well, I must go," he said; "though you do look so bright and cosy here. Half past seven's the last train, and there's a little job at home I promised mother I'd do to-night. I've been so busy lately that I haven't had any hammer and nails of my own. Ray!" He had come round behind her chair, where she had seated herself at her sewing.
"And what would you be afterward, when you had had your day? For none of these days last long, especially with women." "O!" exclaimed Marion, with remonstrative astonishment. "Mrs. Kemble! Charlotte Cushman!" "It won't do to quote them, I'm afraid. I suppose you'd hardly expect to come up into that row?" said Sunderline, smiling. "They began, some time," returned Marion.
Frank Sunderline had been in Boston all the afternoon, making up accounts and papers with his employer. He came round to Pilgrim Street to tea.
Meanwhile, what of Ray Ingraham? Ray Ingraham was sweet, and proper, and still; just what Frank Sunderline thought was prettiest and nicest for a woman to be. He was always reminded by her ways of what it would be so pretty and nice for Marion Kent to be. But Marion would sparkle; and it is so hard to be still and sparkle too.
The 'Mother Goose' idea is very suggestive; but if you went through that block, from beginning to end, I wonder how many 'bonny bowls' you would really find, that you'd be willing to breakfast out of?" "I wonder how many bonny bowls there'll be, one of these days, in the cook's closet of the grand house we're going to?" said Ray. "That's it," said Sunderline.
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