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Updated: May 29, 2025
Whittredge replied, "I do not wish to know, Rosalind; nothing can ever again be bright to me." Yet if she would only look, she must see that it was bright. This was one puzzle. Aunt Genevieve's manner was another. It was as if she scorned everything, and sometimes it made Rosalind almost angry.
The storm had passed after a while, and when the judge's health began to fail Dr. Fair had been called in. But Mrs. Whittredge had not forgotten, and the doctor's position was not an easy one. Only his devotion to his old friend had kept him from giving up the case at the beginning.
Whittredge wanted to hear about the detective, and was much amused at her description of the taking of his picture. Rosalind as she listened held the ring in her hand Patricia's ring. She had thought a great deal about Patricia, and this seemed to bring her near and make her more real the young girl who had looked like Aunt Genevieve, only more kind. "Let's show the ring to Miss Betty! May we, Mr.
So it was that the spinet did not long keep company with the portrait of Saint Cecilia, its original owner, but was harked away to the shop of the magician and the society of the clock case and the claw-footed sofa. Here Allan Whittredge saw and recognized it one day, and questioned Morgan.
But the most remarkable thing about my venerable parishioner remains to be mentioned. Dr. Whittredge was an alchemist.
This done, they set out towards evening to walk to New Bedford. Whittredge throwing the bridle-rein over his arm, they walked on slowly, every now and then turning aside into some crook of the fence, the horse meantime getting his advantage in a bit of green grass, and thus they talked and walked, and walked and talked, till the day broke!
At the foot of Red Hill, at half-past seven P.M." "What tree does he mean?" asked Katherine. "Under the greenwood tree is a poetical figure," Mr. Whittredge explained. "It will be dark at half-past seven," said Jack. "Of course it will be, and that's going to be the fun," cried Belle. "There will be a moon," added Maurice, who was wise in such matters.
As she spoke she put her hat on the step and proceeded to adjust the round comb she wore. "The Whittredge girl. Have you seen her, Belle?" asked Charlotte Ellis. "No; what is she like?" "Katherine is the only one who has seen her; she says she is lovely." "Oh, she is! You ought to see her, Belle. Maurice and I peeped through the hedge and saw her walking to and fro studying something.
West was a frequent visitor at Tiverton, and, when the debate drew on towards midnight, Whittredge was obliged to say, "Well, I can't sit here talking with you all night; for I must sleep, that I may go and see my patients to-morrow."
Something had been wrong ever since Patterson Whittredge went away, more than a dozen years ago. Morgan never failed to follow with interest the careers of the boys of Friendship as they went out into the world, and of all the boys of the village Patterson had been his favorite. He had understood the trouble as well as if it had been carefully explained to him.
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