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Updated: August 6, 2024
On the road, Bengal forms of vegetation, to which I had been for three months a stranger, reappeared; likewise groves of fan and toddy palms, which are both very rare higher up the river; clumps of large bamboo, orange, Acacia Sissoo, Melia, Guatteria longifolia, Spondias mangifera, Odina, Euphorbia pentagona, neriifolia and trigona, were common road-side plants.
Who knows but wot he's a thinking of doing something for you?" "Startin' of you in business or somethin'," said Mrs. Kybird. "But if 'e tries to break it off between you and 'Melia I hope you know what to say." "He won't do that," said her husband. "If he wants to see me," said Mr. Nugent, "let him come here." "I wouldn't 'ave 'im in my house," retorted Mr. Kybird, quickly.
Enoch bent suddenly, and drew her to her feet. "'Melia," said he, "you look up here." She raised her drawn face and looked at him, not because she wished, but because she must. In her abasement, there was no obedience which she would deny him. But she could only see that he was strangely happy, and so the more removed from her own despair.
You know he didn't like changes." "Blue spread on the west room bed?" "Yes." "Spinnin'-wheels out in the shed chamber, where his gran'mother Hooper kep' 'em?" "Yes." "Say, 'Melia, do you s'pose that little still's up attic he used to have such a royal good time with, makin' essences?" Amelia's eyes filled suddenly with hot, unmanageable tears. "Yes;" she said; "we used it only two summers ago.
The wind had miraculously died, and soft clouds ran over the sky in flocks. Rosie danced on ahead, singing her queer little song, and Enoch struggled with himself to speak the word his wife might wish. "'Melia," said he at last, "there ain't anything in my life I couldn't tell you. I jest ain't dwelt on it, that's all. If you want to have me go over it"
She, half hidden in the frills of a great mourning-bonnet and the folds of a great black shawl, kept repeating, in a sharp little gabble, like a child's: "I smell the tea, 'Melia I do, I smell it. Yes, I do I told ye so. I tell ye, I smell the tea."
Buck was all over scars where they'd scratched and bit him, and I wasn't going to do it; and I didn't have to, owin' to Miss St. John's standin' by me like a good one." "Who was Miss St. John?" asked Mrs. Moss, rather confused by the sudden introduction of new names and people. "Why she was 'Melia, Mrs. Smithers, the ringmaster's wife. His name wasn't Montgomery any more'n hers was St. John.
"I don't want to live in the village," she said sharply, thus reproving her own errant mind. "I like my home." "Law, yes, of course ye do," replied aunt Ann easily, returning to her knitting. "I was only spec'latin'. The land, 'Melia, what you doin' of? Repairin' an old coat?" Amelia bent lower over her sewing. "'T was his," she answered in a voice almost inaudible.
"No, dear, you set it down. I don't want none," said Hetty tenderly. She steadied the bowl on its way back, and 'Melia, relinquishing the claims of entertainment, picked into her small mouth with a swift avidity. "Clever little creatur'!" Hetty continued, in a frank aside. But Grandsir had not heard. "How old was Willard?" he inquired, pausing to test the mass his mortar held.
"What under the sun be you doin' of?" called her aunt, listening, with her head on one side. "Don't you fall, 'Melia! Whatever 't is, I can't help ye." But the stairway door yielded to pressure from within: and first a rim of wood appeared, and then Amelia, scarlet and breathless, staggering under a spinning-wheel.
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