Dream Life - A Fable Of The Seasons by Donald Grant Mitchell
page 47 of 213 (22%)
page 47 of 213 (22%)
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to show her, two or three times a week. Good Nelly! perhaps she is
making your troubles all the greater. You gather large bunches of grapes for Madge--because she is a friend of Nelly's--which she doesn't want at all, and very pretty bouquets, which she either drops or pulls to pieces. In the presence of your father one day you drop some hint about Madge in a very careless way,--a way shrewdly calculated to lay all suspicion,--at which your father laughs. This is odd; it makes you wonder if your father was ever in love himself. You rather think that he has been. Madge's father is dead, and her mother is poor; and you sometimes dream how--whatever your father may think or feel--you will some day make a large fortune, in some very easy way, and build a snug cottage, and have one horse for your carriage and one for your wife, (not Madge, of course--that is absurd,) and a turtleshell cat for your wife's mother, and a pretty gate to the front yard, and plenty of shrubbery; and how your wife will come dancing down the path to meet you,--as the Wife does in Mr. Irving's "Sketch-Book,"--and how she will have a harp in the parlor, and will wear white dresses with a blue sash. ----Poor Clarence, it never occurs to you that even Madge may grow fat, and wear check aprons, and snuffy-brown dresses of woollen stuff, and twist her hair in yellow papers! Oh, no, boyhood has no such dreams as that! I shall leave you here in the middle of your first foray into the world of sentiment, with those wicked blue eyes chasing rainbows over your |
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