Chip, of the Flying U by B. M. Bower
page 58 of 174 (33%)
page 58 of 174 (33%)
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"Oh, there ain't a room in the house fit fer comp'ny t' walk into," expostulated the Countess while she scrubbed. "I do like t' see a house clean when folks is expected that only come t' be critical an' make remarks behind yer back the minit they git away. If folks got anything t' say I'd a good deal ruther they said it t' my face an' be done with it. 'Yuh can know a man's face but yuh can't know his heart,' as the sayin' is, an' it's the same way with women--anyway, it's the same way with Mis' Beckman. You can know her face a mile off, but yuh never know who she's goin' t' rake over the coals next. As the sayin' is: 'The tongue of a woman, at last it biteth like a serpent an' it stingeth like an addle,' an' I guess it's so. Anyway, Mis' Beckman's does. I do b'lieve on my soul--what's the matter, Dell? What yuh laughin' at?" The Little Doctor was past speech for the moment, and the Countess stood up and looked curiously around her. It never occurred to her that she might be the cause of that convulsive outburst. "Oh--he--never mind--he's gone, now." "Who's gone?" persisted the Countess. "What kinds of cake do you think we ought to have?" asked the Little Doctor, diplomatically. The Countess sank to her knees and dipped a handful of amber, jelly-like soap from a tin butter can. "Well, I don't know. I s'pose folks will look for something fancy, seein' you're givin' the dance. Mis' Beckman sets herself up as a |
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