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Updated: June 6, 2025
Martin's voice, but she complacently rose and went into the house. Mrs. Martin was a small grey-haired woman, very old-fashioned; a prim, good old soul, a little sharp-tongued, a relic of bygone days of Canadian life. She had been Dr. Woodburn's housekeeper ever since Beth could remember, and they had always called her "Aunt Prudence."
Miss Woodburn's, and especially Mrs. Ess Kay's clothes looked so exquisite that I was mortified to have Louise unpack mine, though I have brought my smartest things, and Vic had two or three pretty blouses of hers altered in a great hurry, for me.
Superficially, the affairs of 'Every Other Week' settled into their wonted form again, and for Fulkerson they seemed thoroughly reinstated. But March had a feeling of impermanency from what had happened, mixed with a fantastic sense of shame toward Lindau. He did not sympathize with Lindau's opinions; he thought his remedy for existing evils as wildly impracticable as Colonel Woodburn's.
But to their agreeable disappointment, though an occasional shot continued to be directed towards them by persons who seemed to be lurking in the distant thickets, no tangible force made its appearance for the firing which had so alarmed them, and caused them to call in all their scouts within hearing, and make every preparation for a desperate resistance, was, as the reader will have already imagined, but the feint made by Woodburn's party, who, hearing the reports of the guns discharged at the escaping canoe, and partly divining the cause, had advanced from their concealment, and begun to make the diversion agreed on at the outset.
The old man's got convictions or did have, unless this thing lately has shaken him all up and he believes that money will do everything. Colonel Woodburn's got convictions that he wouldn't part with for untold millions. Why, March, you got convictions yourself!" "Have I?" said March. "I don't know what they are."
"Fur you, missy," said he, with a funny little accent, for all the world like Sally Woodburn's. "They can't be for me. There must be a mistake," said I, wishing there wasn't, for the peaches did look delicious; and there were two rosebuds lying on top of the basket; one pink, the other white. "I don't know anyone who could have sent them." "The gent knows you, you bet, missy," replied the image.
Stuyvesant-Knox can never have been a child. Sally Woodburn's chin is rather full, too. I wonder if, in spite of her lazy ways, and slow, soft speech, she is very decided, like her cousin, who is so much older and bigger, and apparently able to make the gentle little Southern relative do as she wills? Mrs.
But March had a feeling of impermanency from what had happened, mixed with a fantastic sense of shame toward Lindau. He did not sympathize with Lindau's opinions; he thought his remedy for existing evils as wildly impracticable as Colonel Woodburn's.
Joses lay on a bed under the slope of the roof, his head at the window so that he could look out. His face was faintly livid, and he breathed with difficulty. Mrs. Woodburn's heart went out to him at the first glance. "I'm sorry to see you like this, Mr. Joses," she said gently. "You wanted to see me?" "Well," he answered, "it was Miss Woodburn I wanted to see."
The girl descended from the platform, caught the rabbit by the ears and suspended him. Tame as a cow, he made no resistance. "Who's is this hare?" she asked. "Mrs. Woodburn's, Miss," answered Jerry brightly. "That's Abe Lincoln. Queen Victoria's his wife. They lives together in a nutch." "How did he come in?" "Through the window," said the muffled voice of Albert from the back. "Flow'd."
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