“Well,” I sighed, perfectly sure I was right and perfectly sure he would convince me I was not, “I cannot attend to it to-day. Just let it stand until I come down town. I am very busy to-day.”
Oh! for an uninterrupted moment!—What so simple as lines to write, if only one has the time.
I found a stingy blaze struggling up the chimney: “Do, Tom, run get some kindling and chips quick.”
“Kin yer wait, Miss Sa’, tell I gits thu settin’ de table? Hit’s near ’bout dinn’r time.”
Alas! even as he spoke the family began to assemble, and the library quietly and naturally changed into a family gathering room, where real people crowded out the dreams in a mother’s mind.
At length the meal ended, the house cleared, once more I turned to the lines. A seat was chosen by the window this time, in hopes that a view of the mountains would call up the spirits of Mist’r Bad Simmon Tree, Miss Wile Grape, de Reed gals, and their forest companions.
Thou lessons teachest through tree and vine
A crookèd twig’s to thee a sign
For moral lect—
In the dim perspective of the street a flying object arrested my thoughts. An instant more and it developed into one of my hopefuls tearing like mad on a four-year-old colt, without saddle or bridle. “Help! Catch him!” I cried, as I threw up the window sash. Passers-by rushed to the rescue as the colt took the hedge, crossed the lawn, and halted under the window without a quiver.
“Mama! just look at these people! Send them away—the colt is as gentle as a cat.”
Echoes of Wild West, Buffalo Bill, came from the dispersing crowd, while the boy grumbled: “A bridle and saddle don’t do a thing but make a ‘Sissy’ out of a boy.”