"Tom, say 'Roxy,' an' I'll give ye some, Tommy! Now, boy! 'Roxy, Roxy,
purty Roxy! _purty_ Roxy! Poor ole Jack! poor ole Jack!'"
The bird flew around Wonnell's head, biting at the hat which stood in
such elegant irrelevance to the remainder of his dress, and cried,
"Meshach, he! he! he! Vesty, she! Vesty, Meshach! Vesty, Meshach!" but
said nothing the village vagrant would teach it. He showed the patience
idleness can well afford, and, feeding it a little, or withholding the
food awhile, continued to plead and teach:
"'Roxy, Roxy, purty Roxy! Poor, pore Jack! pore Jack!' Now, Tom, say
'Roxy, Roxy, pore Jack!'"
The bird flew and struck, and sang a little, very niggardly, and so, as
the lights in the west sank and faded, the shiftless lover continued in
vain to seek to give the bird one note more than the magician, his
master, had taught.
The stars modestly appeared in the soft heavens, and Princess Anne
gathered its roofs together like a camp of camels in the desert, and,
with an occasional bleat or bark or human sound, seemed dozing out the
soft fall night, absorbed, perhaps, in the spreading news of Mrs.
Custis's death and Vesta's wedding-journey, that had to be taken at
last.
"Miss Virgie," said the woman Mary--ten years her senior, but comely
still--"have you ever loved like me? Oh, I had a kind husband, and,
helpless as I was, I tried to love once more. Maybe it was a sin.
Pages:
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475