She had noted the beauty of the girl's eyes and complexion despite their present afflicted condition, and she guessed at the wealth of hair concealed by the unfashionable hat.
"Then why can't you come? Don't be unsociable," argued Mrs. Roy. "To-morrow we may all be dead of heat apoplexy, or cholera, or snake-bite, or something equally common to this delightful country, and then you'd be sorry you hadn't enjoyed yourself while you had the chance."
All the details of the proposition rushed through her mind before she spoke. Home-comforts, luxury, good living, warmth, care, attention, money, or at least the command if not the possession of money, that is what it meant, instead of a wretched lodging, a starveling income, penury, and perhaps, so far as certain necessaries for her mother were concerned, want. What would they sacrifice? Not freedom--they had never had it; and if their lives were still to be passed in drudgery, it would, at all events, be better to be the drudge of a kind old man and two insignificant girls, than of a set of rackety schoolboys, as they had hitherto been. Position? No sacrifice there; the respect always paid to them was paid to them as James Ashurst's wife and daughter, and that respect they would still continue to receive. All in the village knew them, the state of their finances, the necessity of their availing themselves of any opportunity for bettering their condition which might present itself; and out of the village they had but few acquaintances, and none for whose opinion they had the least care. So Marian, with beaming eyes and heightened colour, said--
"I've seen 'em. They camp in goat-skin tents, gallop around on animal-back, wear dresses down to their ankles—"
at once, in a brief note which be-gan, “Miss Grace Be-dell: My dear lit-tle Miss.” He told her of the re-ceipt of her “ver-y a-gree-a-ble let-ter.” He said he was “sor-ry to say that he had no lit-tle daugh-ter,” but that he “had three sons, one sev-en-teen, one nine, and one sev-en years of age.” He said he had nev-er worn whis-kers, and asked if folks would not think it sil-ly to be-gin, then, to wear them. The note closed with; “Your ver-y sin-cere well-wish-er, A. Lin-coln.”
Lin-coln was in Spring-field and could do naught then, save with his pen and words of ad-vice to Bu-chan-an who was then Pres-i-dent. With great sad-ness he read what had been done at the South.
Mr. John cam in first. He wint over to her chare and guv her a rell luving kiss.详情 ➢
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