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Updated: May 24, 2025
"They have such a load I wish Clara could ride with us," said Betty. "Peter Junior, won't you get out and fetch her?" So they all stopped and there were greetings and introductions and much laughing and joking, and Peter Junior obediently helped Clara Dean down and into the Ballards' wagon. "Clara, Mr. Thurbyfil can whistle as loud as a train, through his fingers, he can. Do it, Mr.
Thurbyfil," said Bobby. "Oh, I can do that," said Peter Junior, not to be outdone by the stranger, and they all tried it. Bertrand and his wife, settled comfortably on the high seat in front, had their own pleasure together and paid no heed to the noisy crew behind them. What a day!
Thurbyfil accompanied them this morning, and Betty and the boys were to walk, for four grown-ups with little Janey sandwiched in between more than filled the carryall.
And in the books they always kiss their lovers. How can Mr. Thurbyfil ever be your lover, if you never let him even put his arm around you?" "Betty, Betty, come to bed. He isn't my lover and he doesn't want to be and we aren't in books, and you are getting too old to be so silly." Then Betty slowly disrobed and bathed her sweet limbs and at last crept in beside her sister.
"Her character has deepened and she's fine and sweet " "Yes, yes. I have three hundred dollars owing me for the Delong portrait. If I had it, she should have her course. I'll make another effort to collect it." "I would, Bertrand." Julien Thurbyfil and his wife walked down the flower-bordered path side by side to the gate and stood leaning over it in silence.
Her cheeks burned with shame in the darkness, not that she had allowed this, but that she had not been as bashful as she ought. But how could she be bashful without pretending? "Martha," she said at last, "you are so sweet and pretty, if I were Mr. Thurbyfil, I'd put my arm around you anyway, and make love to you." Then Martha drew Betty close and gave her a sleepy kiss.
The boys laughed uproariously, and the rest all smiled, except Betty, who was grave and really seemed somewhat embarrassed. "What is it?" she asked. "Mr. Thurbyfil, this is Mr. Craigmile," said Martha. "You introduced him as Mr. Junior, Betty." "I didn't! Well, that's because I'm bashful. Come on, everybody, mother's in." So they all climbed into the wagon and began to find their places.
All outings were a joy to them, no matter how often they came. Martha was neat and rosy and gay. Lucien Thurbyfil wanted to help her by wiping the dishes, but she sent him out to the sweet-apple tree with a basket, enjoining him to bring only the mellow ones. "Be sure to get enough. We're all going, father and mother and all." "It's very nice of your people to make room for me on the wagon."
"Oh, I forgot. Why, he likes Clara a lot, of course, but I guess they just naturally expected him to go with us. They and the Walters have a wagon together, anyway, and they wouldn't have room. We have one all to ourselves. Hello, Peter Junior! Mr. Thurbyfil, this is Mr. Junior." "Happy to meet you, Mr. Junior," said the correct Mr. Thurbyfil.
Little Janey, cuddled at Betty's side, was soon fast asleep with her head in her sister's lap, while Lucien Thurbyfil was well pleased to have Martha in the corner to himself. Peter Junior sat near Betty and listened with interest to his cousin, who entertained them all with tales of the plains and the Indians, and the game that supplied them with many a fine meal in camp.
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