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Updated: June 29, 2025
"Yeth, thir," said Vinie, her brown arm deep in the beaded pouch. The two lads left behind the scarlet-clad porch, the hunter and Vinie, the little green yard and the broken gate. "Where first? demanded Tom. "Where is the best place in Richmond to buy books?" Young Mocket considered. "There's a shop near the bridge. What do you want with books?" "I want to read them. We'll go to the bridge first."
He thinks it won't, but he's mistaken. He doesn't see himself!" Vinie took the pitcher from beneath the white phlox. "It's getting dark. Tom, aren't we ever going to have that gate mended? He's going away to Richmond in October." The successful candidate and Adam Gaudylock, followed by Joab on a great bay horse, crossed Moore's Creek, and took the Monticello road.
Rand mounted, and he and Young Isham rode away. Vinie stood upon the porch and watched them as far as the turn in the road. A gust of hot wind blew against her, ruffling her calico dress and lifting light tendrils of hair from her forehead and neck. In the southwest the lightning flashed fiercely and there came a crash of thunder.
He pushed the door open and poured out the stained water upon the ground, then took fresh from a bucket standing by and rinsed the basin before he set it down upon the table. "Vinie " "Yeth, thir." "I want a promise from you." "Yeth, Mr. Rand."
Rand drank, and gave back the cup. "Thank you. I'll go on now. How your vine has borne this year!" "Yeth. I'm going to make some wine this week. Good-bye." Her visitor passed through the little yard, between the vivid flowers. At the gate he turned his head. "Tom is really coming, Vinie, in two or three days." "Yeth, thir," said Vinie. "I'll be mighty glad to see him."
"She's just Vinie Mocket," answered the boy. "There's a girl who stays sometimes at Mrs. Selden's, on the Three-Notched Road. She's not freckled, and her eyes are big, and she never goes barefoot. I reckon it's silk she wears." "What's her name?" asked the hunter, filling his pipe. "Jacqueline Jacqueline Churchill. She lives at Fontenoy." "Fontenoy's a mighty fine place," remarked Gaudylock.
That's a brig from the Indies down there, and the captain's our cousin ain't he, Vinie? I know who you are, sir. You're Adam Gaudylock, the great hunter!" "So I am, so I am!" quoth Adam. "Look here, little partridge, at what I've got in my pouch!" The partridge busied herself with the beaded thing, and the two boys talked aside. "I've till dinner time to do what I like in," said Lewis Rand.
As the hunter and Lewis Rand approached, a little girl, brown and freckled, barefoot and dressed in linsey, sprang up from the stone before the gate, and began to run towards the house. Her foot caught in a trailing vine, and down she fell. Adam was beside her at once. "Why, you little partridge!" he exclaimed, and lifted her to her feet. "It's Vinie Mocket," said his companion.
The household never felt actual want, nor anything so picturesque as poverty. Hannah saw to that. You should have read her letters back home to Chicago to her mother and father back home on Rush Street, in Chicago; and to her girlhood friends, Sarah Clapp, Vinie Harden, and Julia Pierce.
"Then I'll have a glass, and I'll just look at the sweetmeats. It is late and I must be going home. Vinie, why don't you have your gate mended?" "It always was broken," said Vinie. "I'm always meaning to have it mended. Will you sit on the porch, ma'am? It's cooler than inside." The short path was lined with zinnias and with prince's feather and the porch covered with a shady grapevine.
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