Читать книгу From the Land of the Snow-Pearls: Tales from Puget Sound онлайн

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“It don’t do any good, maw,” she said, as her mother returned with a defeated air. “She just bawls an’ shakes her head right in your face. Look at her!”

“Oh, I don’t want to look at her. It seems to me your paw might of drove her to the up meadow, seein’s he was goin’ right up by there. It ain’t like as if he’d of had to go out o’ his way. It aggravates me offul.”

She threw the last stick of wood into the box, and brushed the tiny splinters off her arm and sleeves.

“Well, I guess I might as well string them beans for dinner before I clean up.”

She took a large milkpan, filled with beans, from the table and sat down near the window.

“Isaphene,” she said, presently, “what do you say to an organ, an’ a horse an’ buggy? A horse with some style about him, that you could ride or drive, an’ that ’u’d always be up when you wanted to go to town!”

“What do I say?” The girl turned and looked at her mother as if she feared one of them had lost her senses; then she returned to her cake-beating with an air of good-natured disdain.