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Milford's card in return with the Towncrier's name penciled on the back. She looked searchingly at Richard. "I remember you, now," she said. "There was such a pretty little girl with you climbed up on the wagon to touch Tim's tail through the bars. She had long curls and a smile that made me want to hug her.
Ringing the Towncrier's bell and fishing and blueberrying and telling yarns and helping everybody bear their trouble was the least part of his doings. That was only what the world saw. That was all she had seen herself until this moment. Now she was suddenly aware of his bigness of soul which made him capable of an infinite tenderness and capacity to serve.
Ordinarily it would have caught Georgina's attention long before this, but absorbed in the letter to which she had returned after putting the eggs down cellar, she did not hear the ringing until it was near enough for the Towncrier's message to be audible also. He was announcing the extra day of the Bazaar, and calling attention to the many new attractions it would have to offer on the morrow.
Although to older eyes the happenings of that morning were trivial, they were far-reaching in their importance to Georgina, for they gave her three memories Jeremy's teeth, the Towncrier's bell, and her own name on the porringer to make a deep impression on all her after-life. The Towncrier Has His Say
The weirs, to which they took their way that afternoon in the Towncrier's dory, The Betsey, was "the biggest fish-trap in any waters thereabouts," the old man told them. And it happened that the net held an unusually large catch that day. Barrels and barrels of flapping squid and mackerel were emptied into the big motor boat anchored alongside of it.
She had happened to be present, too. And the green fore-log had made that same sing-song hissing. The sound carried his thoughts back so far that for a few moments he ceased to hear the clack of the spoon. Georgina's Playmate Mother As the Towncrier's revery brought him around to Mrs.
The old man, leaning sideways over the arm of his chair, craned his neck toward the window to peer out, but he did it without dislodging Georgina, who was repeating the "tick-tick" of the watch in a whisper, as she lay contentedly against the Towncrier's shoulder. "She's naught but a slip of a girl," he commented, referring to Georgina's mother, slowly drawing into closer view.