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Bodfish hotly rebuked a suggestion of his niece's to sweep them up. "Seems to me," said the conscience-stricken Mr. Negget, feebly, "as they're rather large for a woman." "Mud cakes," said Mr. Bodfish, with his most professional manner; "a small boot would pick up a lot this weather." "So it would," said Mr.
Bodfish at the farm, but family affection, coupled with an idea of testamentary benefits, had so wrought with his wife that he had allowed her to have her own way. Now he half fancied that he saw a chance of getting rid of him. If he could only enable the widow to catch him searching her house, it was highly probable that the ex-constable would find the village somewhat too hot to hold him.
Bodfish hung about in the neighbourhood of the widow's cottage, but in vain, and it would be hard to say whether he or Mr. Negget, who had been discreetly shadowing him, felt the disappointment most. On the day following, however, the ex-constable from a distant hedge saw a friend of the widow's enter the cottage, and a little later both ladies emerged and walked up the road.
I shall pass it in not playing bridge with Bodfish, Mrs. Bodfish, and a neighbor. Sunday morning is the best part of the whole weekend, though. That is when I shall most enjoy myself. Do you know a man named Pringle? Next Saturday I am not going to stay with Pringle. I forget who is not to be my host the Saturday after that. I have so many engagements of this kind that I lose track of them."
I won't have no woman asked here to tea to be got at like that. There's only my friends comes here to tea, and if any friend stole anything o' mine, I'd be one o' the first to hush it up." "If they were all like you, George," said his wife, angrily, "where would the law be?" "Or the police?" demanded Mr. Bodfish, staring at him. "I won't have it!" repeated the farmer, loudly.
"No," said Mrs. Negget, decisively. "I'm a very poor sleeper, and I'd have woke at once, but if a flock of elephants was to come in the room they wouldn't wake George. He'd sleep through anything." "Except her feeling under my piller for her handkerchief," corroborated Mr. Negget, returning to the sitting-room. Mr. Bodfish waved them to silence, and again gave way to deep thought.
Driver here to my house to be got at," said the farmer. "O' course if you can find out who took the brooch, and get it back again anyway, that's another matter." Mr. Bodfish leaned over the table toward his niece. "If I get an opportunity, I'll search her cottage," he said, in a low voice.
Bodfish at the farm, but family affection, coupled with an idea of testamentary benefits, had so wrought with his wife that he had allowed her to have her own way. Now he half fancied that he saw a chance of getting rid of him. If he could only enable the widow to catch him searching her house, it was highly probable that the ex-constable would find the village somewhat too hot to hold him.
"Was the brooch there last night?" he inquired. "It were," said Mr. Negget, promptly. "Lizzie made me get up just as the owd clock were striking twelve to get her a lozenge." "It seems pretty certain that the brooch went since then," mused Mr. Bodfish. "It would seem like it to a plain man," said Mr. Negget, guardedly. "I should like to see the box," said Mr. Bodfish. Mrs.
The following were chosen directors for the coming year: Thomas C. Amory, William S. Appleton, Thomas J. Allen, Joshua P. Bodfish, Curtis Guild, John T. Hassam, Hamilton A. Hill, Samuel H. Russell, and William Wilkins Warren. The report on the library showed a total of 520 volumes, and many pamphlets not yet enumerated, being an addition of 184 volumes, and 126 pamphlets during the year.
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