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Updated: May 10, 2025
His handsome face was quite pale under a slight grizzle of beard, he was in his shirt-sleeves, he had on no dicky or stock, and his sinewy throat showed. "Where you goin'?" he gasped out again, as he came up to the sled. "I'm a takin' Sylvy home. Why?" inquired Jonathan Leavitt, with a dazed look. "Home? What are you headed this way for? What are all those things on the sled?"
She should not have sent you for the hatchet. I am very sorry for my little Dimple; it is not so very serious, but she will not be able to walk for several days. Next time you want to play Indian, do without a hatchet. Put on your frock, Bubbles, and go into the kitchen, for I'm sure I heard Sylvy call you." Bubbles went meekly out and Dimple was soon asleep on the sofa.
Sylvia would always remember how once, when she was looking at Mount Tahconic, darkened by a brooding tempest, its crags frowning blackly above the dark forest at its foot and the lurid cloud above its head torn by fierce lances of light, she hid her head in her mother's checked apron, in the helpless terror of an imaginative child; but, instead of being soothed and pitied, mother had only laughed a little gay laugh, and said gently, but merrily: "Why, Sylvy, the sun's right on the other side, only you don't see it."
His red face with its white fringe beamed kindly upon her under the old straw hat. "Wall, now, you're lookin' smaht, Sylvy," he said, as he paused. "Beginnin' to look real kind o' sassy and rosy. I guess they use ye pretty well here." His shrewd blue eyes twinkled at her, and he gave a sharp nod of satisfaction. "Shouldn't wonder if you'd be gittin' up in the mornin' some o' these days."
Just then Sylvy called her, and she ran off, holding her doll admiringly at arm's length. "She will dress it just like a darkey. You see," said Dimple, "she has a purple dress on it now; think of that, with a scarlet overskirt; and I know she will make it a blue waist out of one of my old sash ribbons I gave her." And sure enough, Floridy Alabamy did wear the three colors in triumph.
"My mamma doesn't care; she lets me go whenever I please, and sometimes I help Bubbles clean knives and do such things, so she can get through, and play with me sooner." "Sylvy, we are coming to watch you make cake; may we?" "I'm not a carin'!" said Sylvy. "Git 'round on the other side of the table." "See her break the eggs," said Florence. "Could you do it, Dimple?
"Why, we will, of course. I've seen Sylvy do it often, and I know exactly how. Do, do let us, mamma." It seemed too bad to dampen their ardor, and Mrs. Dallas, rather dubiously, consented, but charged them not to eat under cooked dough, or raw apples. Every one was up betimes the next morning. Sylvy had set everything in readiness for breakfast, and had taken an early departure, and Mrs.
My pound's a net aout in the fishin' ground; an' I go an' haul it every mornin'." "Oh, may I go with you some time?" asked Sylvia eagerly. "Sure ye kin." Cap'n Lem slapped his leg and burst forth again. "Haw, haw, haw, Sylvy. Mebbe we'll find some lost sea cows and dogfish caught out there.
It would only be until the middle of September, although if it wasn't too cold later on, we might be able to rent the tents and outfits to the hunters when they come up. Piney'll be home for vacation and Elvy and Sylvy can help you. They're eight years old now, and Anne's fifteen and Charlotte's twelve.
She safe an' soun'. Jes' yuh come in de back way, an' I'll git yuh some dry things. An' Sylvy won't say nothin'. I jes' know she wont, an' yuh can git dry by de kitchen fire. I reckon Miss Flo'ence mighty 'shamed o' herse'f, kickin' up all dis rumpus 'bout nothin'." But Dimple shook her head. "It wasn't about nothing. I behaved just as mean as could be, and I'm the one to be ashamed.
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