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Trifles for the Christmas Holidays by H. S. Armstrong
page 56 of 93 (60%)
Malinda Jane had seven the first ten days). True, the meals were not
models of regularity; the chicken sometimes came on in too natural a
state,--blue and pulpy,--and the beefsteak betrayed a volcanic
appearance, as though reduced to lava by an irruption of gravy. I
remember one woman stole a keg of butter, and another went off with half
a dozen silver spoons. The former, Malinda Jane ascribed to the cat; the
latter, to a defective memory; but, then, Malinda Jane never learned
housekeeping (I don't see why she should, poor dear!), and trifles like
these failed to mar _our_ household peace.

I would mention the conduct of Mrs. Mountchessington Lawk as being, for
nearly a year, really saintly. Even the rare intervals at which she
visited were marked by a manner the reverse of familiar. Almost every
evening she would stand on the opposite side of the street, gazing
wistfully at us as we sat in the window; but no persuasion induced her
to pay a formal visit more than once a fortnight.

With this striking evidence of my wisdom before me, I grew worldly. I
think that during that short year I possessed a better opinion of myself
and my capacity than ever before or since.

Worse than this, I grew pharisaical. I ventured to pity my less
fortunate neighbors, bound hand and foot to the slavery of
mothers-in-law. I attempted to joke them, and poke them severely in the
ribs with my knuckles, when the magic name was mentioned. So often did
I congratulate myself on the shrewd stroke of genius displayed, that I
fear even her respectability became sadly impaired in my mind, and
depreciated to such an extent that I was gradually led to think of her
irreverently as an "old gal."

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