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“La now! An’ why do you say that, my dear?” inquired Mrs. Wopp. “Set up straight, Moses, yer back looks like you was packin’ a sack of pertaters.”,
“Naw Nosey,” he retorted, “there ain’t no bun to break in two, the dorg is outside the bun already.”,
“Now Moses,” she called at the end of the third verse, “git the water for the rinsin’.” The clanking lessened and slowly died down to a complaining rumble. It might have been some monster suffering from indigestion.,
“Can you drive?” he asked, anxiously, as he unhitched the horse. He noticed with a second sinking feeling that Jimmy’s face twitched with pain, that his right arm hung limp.
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Mrs. Bliggins’ narrative came to an end. Though its application to the misfortune which dominated the minds of the little gathering in Mrs. Mifsud’s kitchen was somewhat obscure, it served to cause a momentary interest. Experiences so unusual and so complicated as those of Mr. Augustus Snoop were bound to be diverting.,
“This here flower aint a mornin’-glory, but the leaves is mighty like it, an’ the flowers is jist as purty.” Moses explained.,
Full of her thought she slipped from the couch, and went to the kitchen. “Mrs. Bennett, haven’t you some work a little girl could do?”,
The light shone through the colored glass window, casting a bluish tinge over the large earnest countenance of the teacher, and a distinct whisper was heard to the effect that “Mrs. Wopp’s face was blue moulderin’.”
He went on, a little cautiously now, and shortly came in view of the “Ha’nt,” a sinister though imposing house, built of cut stone, close against the face of the most picturesque mountain of the range, bounding Vina Valley. The windows were curtained with cobwebs and dust. For years the wide front door had been nailed up with the same sun-bleached boards; and “Keep out!” spoke from every gray splinter.
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“No more, kitties; that’s all that is good for you. Go back to your chair.”
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In the house, meanwhile, affairs were proceeding quite as happily as those out of doors. The hostess fluctuated between the parlor and kitchen. She was preparing a repast not only for the workers present, but also for the men-folk who would presently arrive to take them to their respective homes. Excused from quilting, she nevertheless managed to spend considerable time with her guests. Mrs. Mifsud was a lady who aspired to literary attainments. She had read “Beulah,” “Vashti,” “Lucile,” “St. Elmo” and many other books of like calibre. She felt that her talents were practically wasted, living in what she termed a desert, yet she strove, when occasion offered, by elegance of deportment and conversation to enhance her gifts. She often spoke tenderly of the late Mr. Mifsud who, in spite of the fact that his face had been adorned with bristling side-whiskers of an undeniable red, had shown in other ways some signs of intelligence and feeling. He had been carried off by the shingles. According to Mrs. Mifsud’s account, her deeply-lamented spouse had considered the tall attenuated form of his wife “willowy,” her long thin black hair “a crown of glory,” her worn narrow countenance with its sharp nose and coal-black eyes, “seraphic.”
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Betty staggered with her burden out into the garden to leave with her flowers the benediction of her presence and also to crave a few small favors for herself.
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Halin-Chen Response,
>“Here, Mose, hoi’ this here jint while I fit the next one inter it.” A tongue-twisting silence ensued.
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