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Updated: June 9, 2025
And says I, 'Cerinthy Ann, I don't know anything what to do. And says she, 'If I was you, I know what I'd do, I'd tell the Doctor, says she. 'Nobody ever takes offence at anything you do, Miss Prissy. To be sure," added Miss Prissy, "I have talked to people about a good many things that it's rather strange I should; 'cause I a'n't one, somehow, that can let things go that seem to want doing.
He was just as pale as a cloth. I tried to say a word to Miss Scudder, but she snapped me up so! She's an awful decided woman when her mind's made up. I was telling Cerinthy Ann Twitchel, she came round me this noon, that it didn't exactly seem to me right that things should go on as they are going.
They sat down, pushing away a place in the grass; and Cerinthy Ann took off her bonnet, and threw it among the clover, exhibiting to view her black hair, always trimly arranged in shining braids, except where some glossy curls fell over the rich high, color of her cheeks. Something appeared to discompose her this afternoon.
Deacon Twitchel arrived, soft, pillowy, and plaintive as ever, accompanied by Cerinthy Ann, a comely damsel, tall and trim, with a bright black eye, and a most vigorous and determined style of movement. Good Mrs.
In fact, before Cerinthy Ann had quite finished her confessions, they were more than a mile from the cottage, and Mary began to think of returning, saying that her mother would wonder where she was, when she came home. In the year 1774, David Williams, a gentleman with deistical theories and scientific tastes, lived at Chelsea, near London.
It is to be remarked, in passing, that Miss Cerinthy Ann was at this very time receiving surreptitious visits from a consumptive-looking, conscientious, young theological candidate, who came occasionally to preach in the vicinity, and put up at the house of the Deacon, her father.
Mary looked up, and remarked the shining black hair, the long dark lashes lying down over the glowing cheek, where two arch dimples were nestling, and said, quietly, "Probably he is a man of taste, Cerinthy; I advise you to leave the matter entirely to his judgment." "You don't, really, Mary!" said the damsel, looking up. "Don't you think it would injure him, if I should?"
It is kind o' discouraging, but I don't know what to do about it"; and for a few moments Cerinthy sat demolishing buttercups, and throwing them up in the air till her shiny black head was covered with golden flakes, while her cheeks grew redder with something that she was going to say next. "Now, Mary, there is that creature. Well, you know, he won't take 'No' for an answer. What shall I do?"
"Suppose, then, you try 'Yes," said Mary, rather archly. "Oh, pshaw! Mary Scudder, you know better than that, now. I look like it, don't I?" "Why, yes," said Mary, looking at Cerinthy, deliberately; "on the whole, I think you do." "Well! one thing I must say," said Cerinthy, "I can't see what he finds in me. I think he is a thousand times too good for me.
"Why, Cerinthy," said Mary, "how glad I am to see you!" "Well," said Cerinthy, "I have been meaning to come down all this week, but there's so much to do in haying-time, but to-day I told mother I must come.
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