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"You're a country rose yourself, miss, and you ought to be blooming out in the fields, instead of wilting in here." "I wish I was. Thank you so much for the roses, Mr. Mr. "Bell Andrew Bell, that's my name. I live out at Pine Pastures. We're all Bells out there can't throw a stone without hitting one. Glad you like the roses." After that the vegetable-man brought Jessamine a bouquet every trip.
Only now it masked her weariness, her sense of desperate desolation. I took the rose and kissed her hand. I left her wilting in the big chair, staring hard into the fireplace that Clem had rilled with summer green things. When my fellow-chattel appeared next morning with my coffee, he was embarrassed. With guile he strove to be talkative about matters of no consequence. But this availed him not.
Be modest, be natural, be true to yourself. Stay with me and grow fat." When the sunshine of the long July days flooded the garden, glistening on the silken leaves of the corn, wilting the potato-blossoms, unfolding the bright yellow flowers of the okra and the melon, Tom would fain have pushed himself out into the full tide of light and heat. But his mother bent tenderly over him.
Sitting there as an invisible presence, the preconceived world melted also and was gone. Lady Franks, Sir William, all the guests, they talked and maneuvered with their visible personalities, manipulating the masks of themselves. And underneath there was something invisible and dying something fading, wilting: the essential plasm of themselves: their invisible being. Well now, and what next?
"The duke?" "Yes. I am the Princess Hildegarde." The Princess Hildegarde of Barscheit! My gloves and riding-crop slipped from my nerveless fingers to the floor. A numbing, wilting sensation wrinkled my spine. The Princess Hildegarde of Barscheit! She stood opposite me, the woman ought I not to say girl? for whom I had been seeking, after a fashion, all these months!
It was nearly nine o'clock, and the guests had been sitting in a subdued impatience amid the wilting flowers and greens in the church, and the minister had been trying to keep in a benedictory frame of mind in a stuffy little retiring-room, and now the wedding-party were just entering the church. A sudden impulse seized Anderson. He stole inside the house, and looked and listened in the hall.
Thinking of the numerous company of little girls of infinite charm I have met, and of their evanishment, I have a vision of myself on horseback on the illimitable green level pampas, under the wide sunlit cerulean sky in late September or early October, when the wild flowers are at their best before the wilting heats of summer.
The girl carried a huge bunch of wilting poppies and wild flowers. As the car approached McTeague's window the young man got up and swung himself off the platform, waving goodby to the party. Suddenly McTeague recognized him. "There's Marcus Schouler," he muttered behind his mustache. Marcus Schouler was the dentist's one intimate friend.
Some ragged little boys from the depot sold pop and iced lemonade under a white umbrella at the corner, and made faces at the spruce youngsters who came to dance. That vacant lot soon became the most cheerful place in town. Even on the hottest afternoons the cottonwoods made a rustling shade, and the air smelled of popcorn and melted butter, and Bouncing Bets wilting in the sun.
Young tomato plants are very sensitive to over-supply of water and some of the most successful growers do not water at all until the plants are quite large and then only when necessary to prevent wilting.
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