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"Better give them the run of the garden—alone, Mrs. Molly. No chance for them unless you do," he said laughingly, "or the buttons, either," he added under his breath so I could just hear it. I wish Mrs. Johnson could have heard how soft his voice lingered over that little half-sentence. She is so experienced she could have told me if it meant—but, of course, he isn't like other men! Griffin nodded. "Tabby March, you know. The young woman who paints pussies. Used to go here three years ago, before she'd arrived. She was a wild one, I can tell you." "Nor I," said Maurice, stretching out his hand. "Please let me read the note. Uncle Jen. I wish to see precisely how it is worded.".
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"Not at present," said Jen, after a moment's thought. "But, later on, I shall, in order to clear the memory of David." "And now, Miss Kendall," he finished with grave satisfaction in every word. "It is my privilege to award to you the Roberts prize of one hundred dollars, in recognition of the meritorious work done by you in the late competition. Will you kindly come forward to receive it?" No, the town didn't mean anything but kindness by marrying me to Mr. Carter, and they didn't consider him in the matter at all, poor man! Of that I feel sure. Hillsboro is like that. It settled itself here in this north country a few hundreds of years ago, and has been hatching and clucking over its own small affairs ever since. All the houses stand back from the street with their wings spread out over their gardens, and mothers here go on hovering even to the third and fourth generation. Lots of times young, long-legged boys scramble out of the nests and go off and decide to grow up where their crow will be heard by the world. Alfred was one of them. "It does seem ages to wait," agreed Elinor. "After I turn mine in tomorrow morning, I'll be consumed with curiosity to see the others—particularly Doris Leighton's.".
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