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Ewell, Martha Lewis Beckwith, 1841-1902

"The Harvest of Years"


She brought her knitting in a little gingham bag on her arm, and there
was no way to get rid of her or of her coming talk, which, I confess, I
dreaded.
"Oh, dear!" I said to Clara, "that wretched meddler is coming. What
shall we do with her?"
"I will try and help you, Emily. Perhaps she has a good heart after all,
and meddles only because her conditions in life have fitted her for
nothing better."
"It isn't so, Clara; she tells stories about everybody; I would not
believe her under oath."
"Charity," she said softly, and through the door came Jane.
"Good afternoon, Emily."
"Take a seat," I said, bowing.
"Good afternoon, Mis' Densin," to Clara.
"Mrs. _De-mond_," I said, pronouncing the name rather forcibly.
"Oh! _De_-mond is it?" with accent on the first syllable
"That is more like it," said Clara. "How do you do to-day? let me take
your things."
"Don't feel very scrumptious, and ain't sick neither, kinder so so. How
are all here? I heard Mis' Minot was gone. Ain't you lonesome?"
"We do miss her sadly," said Clara.
"Gone to a weddin', ain't she?" I laughed aloud.
"Only for a change," said Clara.
"Why, Mis' Grover"--
Clara waited for no news, but said quickly:
"You were very kind, thinking we were lonely, to come over and see. Come
into the other side of the house," and she led the way to her
sitting-room.
"Oh! ain't this be-yoo-ti-ful! What a wonderful change from the old side
of this house! I declare, I should think Mr.


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