The man who manages the farm generally—and is a plague and a blessing at the same time to his master—appears round a corner, and declares, respectfully, that he will be ready in a "jiffy" to accompany Miss Mona, if she will just give him time to "clane himself up a bit.",
Mona, turning, confronts the frightened group in the corner, both men and women, with a face changed and aged by grief and indignation.,
"It was a feeble effort," declares he, contemptuously striking with his cane the trunks of the trees as he goes by them..
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