Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

Summary

Portrait of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Mary E. Wilkins Freeman A New England Nun (1887)

She always warned people not to go too near him. She fed him on ascetic fare of corn mush and cakes, and never fired his dangerous temper with heating and sanguinary diet of flesh and bones. Louisa looked at the old dog munching his simple fare, and thought of her approaching marriage and trembled. Still no anticipation of disorder and confusion in lieu of sweet peace and harmony, no forebodings of Cæsar on the rampage, no wild fluttering of her little yellow canary, were sufficient to turn her a hem's breadth. Joe Dagget had been fond of her and working for her all these years.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Mary E. Wilkins Freeman A New England Nun (1887)

Now the tall weeds and grasses might cluster around Cæsar's little hermit hut, the snow might fall on its roof year in and year out, but he never would go on a rampage through the unguarded village. Now the little canary might turn itself into a peaceful yellow ball night after night, and have no need to wake and flutter with wild terror against its bars. Louisa could sew linen seams, and distil roses, and dust and polish and fold away in lavender, as long as she listed. That afternoon she sat with her needle-work at the window, and felt fairly steeped in peace.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Mary E. Wilkins Freeman A New England Nun (1887)

There would be a large house to care for; there would be company to entertain; there would be Joe's rigorous and feeble old mother to wait upon; and it would be contrary to all thrifty village traditions for her to keep more than one servant. Louisa had a little still, and she used to occupy herself pleasantly in summer weather with distilling the sweet and aromatic essences from roses and peppermint and spearmint.
Source: Wikisource

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