Seems to me them folks is stoppin' a good while."
"They surely be," agreed Lavina Dow.
"I expect it's somethin' particular. There ain't none of the Thornton
folks left, except one o' the gran'darters, an' I've often heard
Betsey remark that she should never see her more, for she lives to
London. Strange how folks feels contented in them strayaway places off
to the ends of the airth."
The flies and bees were buzzing against the hot windowpanes; the
handfuls of beans were clicking into the brown wooden measure. A bird
came and perched on the windowsill, and then flitted away toward the
blue sky. Below, in the yard, Betsey Lane stood talking with the lady.
She had put her blue drilling apron over her head, and her face was
shining with delight.
"Lor', dear," she said, for at least the third time, "I remember ye
when I first see ye; an awful pritty baby you was, an' they all said
you looked just like the old gen'ral. Be you goin' back to foreign
parts right away?"
"Yes, I'm going back; you know that all my children are there. I wish
I could take you with me for a visit," said the charming young guest.
"I'm going to carry over some of the pictures and furniture from the
old house; I didn't care half so much for them when I was younger as I
do now. Perhaps next summer we shall all come over for a while. I
should like to see my girls and boys playing under the pines."
"I wish you re'lly was livin' to the old place," said Betsey Lane.
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