)
"Now Miss Marie, she's savin' like,--not through meanness, but because
she's got the good Irish heart that boils against payin' rint, and she's
hoardin' crown by shillin' till she kin buy her a cabin and to say a
pertaty patch for a garden, somewhere out where it's green! Faith! but
she'll do it too; she's a manager! Yez had orter see the illigant boned
turkey she made out o' veal, stuck through with shrivelled black ground
apples, she called 'puffles'! an glued it up foine wid jelly. Sez I,
'They'll never know the difference,' but off she goes and lets it out
and tells the makin' uv it ter every woman on the hill,--that's all I
hev agin her. She's got a disease o' truth-telling when there's no need
that would anguish the saints o' Hiven theirselves!
"'I kin make better 'n naturaler-lookin' hats fer nothin', here at home,
than they keep in N' York,' she says after looking out the back window a
piece. 'And who'll help yer?' says I, 'and where'll yer git the posies
and what all?'
"'I bought some bolts o' ribbon to-day,' says she, smilin'; 'and fer the
rest, the garden, you, and I will manage it together, if you'll lend me
a shelf all to meself in the cold closet whenever I need it!' Sure fer a
moment I wuz oneasy, fer I thought a wild streak run branchin' through
all the boss's family!"
(At the words Garden, You, and I, there flashed through me the thought
of some telepathic influence at work.
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