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Updated: May 10, 2025
"Pack up your junk, this minute, boy," he shouted. "We take the first boat out of here for home. Look at this!" He thrust Georgina's letter before Dan's bewildered eyes. While they Waited "There comes the boy from the telegraph office." Mrs. Triplett spoke with such a raven-like note of foreboding in her voice that Georgina, practising her daily scales, let her hands fall limply from the keys.
Triplett attempted a census of faults and defeats named by the teacher. Here inattention by far led all others. Defects of sense and speech, carelessness, indifference, lack of honor and of self-restraint, laziness, dreamy listlessness, nervousness, mental incapacity, lack of consideration for others, vanity, affectation, disobedience, untruthfulness, grumbling, etc., follow.
"It's like looking into a different world," she cried, as she reached the kitchen door, and eagerly turned the prism from one object to another. Mrs. Triplett was scowling intently over the task of trying to turn the lid of a glass jar which refused to budge. "Oh, it even puts a rainbow around Tippy's frown," Georgina cried excitedly. Then she ran to hold the prism over Belle's eyes.
Triplett was an elderly widow, a distant relative of the family, who lived with them. "Tippy" the child called her before she could speak plainly a foolish name for such a severe and dignified person, but Mrs. Triplett rather seemed to like it.
Tippy signed for it, not wanting the boy to see Barbara in such outlandish dress, then carried it out to the picnickers. She held it under her apron until she reached them. Telegrams always spelled trouble to Mrs. Triplett, but Barbara took this one from her with a smiling thank you, without, rising from her seat on the sand. Telegrams had always been pleasant things in her experience.
I had a most difficult time explaining to her that Triplett meant absolutely nothing by his action, a statement which he corroborated by all sorts of absurd "I don't care," gestures but he clung to the flower. An hour later when we had escorted the ladies safely to their compound, I paddled back to the yawl.
"If you don't mind, sir, night'll be comin' on soon and I think we'd better make sail." "Make sail?" I murmured blankly. "How?" "The bedding, sir," said Triplett. "Of course!" I cried. "All hands abaft to make sail." How we knotted our sheets and blankets together to fashion a rough main-sail would be a tedious recital, for it was slow work.
"I've been thinking I ought to write to your mother and let her know about yesterday's performance before she has a chance to hear it from outsiders or the papers. It's a whole week to-day since she left." "A week," echoed Georgina. "Is that all? It seems a month at least. It's been so long." Mrs. Triplett tossed her a calendar from the desk. "Count it up for yourself," she said.
Try for a moment to hold the picture; our little group standing on the very crest of the mountain as if about to sing the final chorus of the Creation to an audience of islands. Far-flung they stretched, these jeweled confections, while below, almost at our very feet, we could see the Kawa and Triplett, a tiny speck, frantically waving his yard-arm!
An' you, Whinney boy, you ain't ketched a bug nor a beetle, have yer? And you, ole Swanko-panko, you ain't drawed a line, have yer?" We hung our heads like schoolboys before the master. Of course if Triplett put it that way, on moral grounds, so to speak, there was no more to be said. "Well, what's the answer?" he continued. "It's time you got married an' settled down, ain't it? When is it to be?"
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