Sty

“ Misty snorted as if to say, "What you doing here? Go on back to your briar patch!" But the rabbit never budged, not even when Misty stretched out her neck and breathed right in its face.
Grandpa guffawed. Even then the cheeky little thing stood its ground, more afraid of the rising water than of people or ponies.
"He's sassing Misty," Paul laughed. "'Don't eye me, ma'am,' he's saying, 'I been flooded out. Same as you.'"
At last Misty grew bored and ambled across the porch, through the back hall, and right into the kitchen. ”

“ Grandpa stroked his chin and a far look crept into his eyes. "They want to cast Misty in the biggest role o' her life; even bigger'n bein' a star in a movie."
The children listened, speechless.
"Even bigger," Grandpa added, "than birthin' a colt."
"What could be bigger?" Maureen asked.
"They want Misty and her young'un to make a personal tour wherever her picture is playing, and go right spang up onto the stage. And part o' the ticket money'll be used to tidy up the island, but most of it to buy back the ponies. Mind ye, it'll all have to start right away. ”

“ every flower seems to burn by itself, softly, purely in the misty beds; and how she loved the grey white moths spinning in and out, over the cherry pie, over the evening primroses! ”

“ Comment on Hare’s Sermon by the same woman, only hints sent to the printer from Presto to give her. [330c] Then there’s the Miscellany, an apron for Stella, a pound of chocolate, without sugar, for Stella, a fine snuff-rasp of ivory, given me by Mrs. St. John for Dingley, and a large roll of tobacco, which she must hide or cut shorter out of modesty, and four pair of spectacles for the Lord knows who. There’s the cargo, I hope it will come safe. Oh, Mrs. Masham and I are very well; we write to one another, but it is upon business ”

“ In Saint Stylites, the famous Christian hermit of old times, who built him a lofty stone pillar in the desert and spent the whole latter portion of his life on its summit, hoisting his food from the ground with a tackle; in him we have a remarkable instance of a dauntless stander-of-mast-heads; ”

“ Let its grapes the morn salute
From a nocturnal root,
Which feels the acrid juice
Of Styx and Erebus;
And turns the woe of Night,
By its own craft, to a more rich delight.
We buy ashes for bread;
We buy diluted wine;
Give me of the true,
Whose ample leaves and tendrils curl'd
Among the silver hills of heaven
Draw everlasting dew;
Wine of wine,
Blood of the world,
Form of forms, and mould of statures,
That I intoxicated,
And by the draught assimilated,
May float at pleasure through all natures ”

“ I hear, well, almost any hour, a secret whispered by the breeze. The sun's more generous with his gold; he spilt it at my feet to-day. A happy wren was very bold and carolled forth a roundelay. The sturdy tit with sable breast, the blue tit, lovely little thing, are pecking with the greatest zest at fat a-dangling from a string! On every slender willow bough (with ecstasy this news I write) the Persian Kittens frolic now; the boisterous wind gives them delight. They jump about like anything; and how their silver fur coats gleam! They prove that it is really Spring—and not a tantalizing dream! ”

“ Well, Smyth and the palsy water I have handled already, and he does not lodge (or rather did not, for poor man now he is gone) at Mr. Jesse's and all that stuff; but we found his lodging, and I went to Stella's mother on my own head, for I never remembered it was in the letter to desire another bottle; but I was so fretted, so tosticated, and so impatient, that Stella should have her water (I mean decently, do not be rogues) and so vexed with Sterne's carelessness. — Pray God Stella's illness may not return. If they come seldom, they begin to be weary; I judge by myself ”

“ Stella's sweet breath the same to me did read.
Oh voice, oh face! maugre my speech's might,
Which wooed woe, most ravishing delight
E'en those sad words, e'en in sad me did breed.
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Dear, why make you more of a dog than me?
If he do love, I burn, I burn in love;
If he wait well, I never thence would move;
If he be fair, yet but a dog can be.
Little he is, so little worth is he;
He barks, my songs thine own voice oft doth prove:
Bidden perhaps he fetcheth thee a glove,
But I unbid, fetch ev'n my soul to thee. ”

“ I need only to look back about ten short months and think of those crystal-clear winter days of ours, with the sleigh piled up with its warm bear-robes, the low sun on the endless sea of white, the air like champagne, the spanking team frosted with their own breath, the caroling sleigh-bells, and the man who still meant so much to me at my side. Then the homeward drive at night, under violet clear skies, over drifts of diamond-dust, to the warmth and peace and coziness of one’s own hearth! It was often razor-edge weather, away below zero, but we had furs enough to defy any threat of frost-nip. ”

“ Beneath the blinds one caught a glimpse of [63] one of the rose-gardens. Protected by a yew hedge, roses of all colours lifted their sweet, hot faces to the sun. A grass path running down the middle of the garden ended at a white seat, in a bower of white blossom.
Sylvia drew a deep breath. “I believe all the delicious scents in the world are here!” she exclaimed.
“That’s why I like this room in the afternoon,” said Anne. “The sun draws all the sweetness out of the roses, and sends it up here. Take off your hat, my child. ”

“ Then the little rose looked up, and while the dew-drops shone like happy tears upon her leaves, she said,—
“I WILL love and trust you, Thistle, for you are indeed much changed. Make your home among us, and my sister flowers will soon learn to love you as you deserve. Not for sweet Lily-Bell’s sake, but for your own, will I become your friend; for you are kind and gentle now, and worthy of our love. Look up, my little ones, there is no danger near; look up, and welcome Thistle to our home.” ”

“ Your baby pleads, "Don't leave me by myself." You place a night-light on a little shelf, and baby smiles and feels quite comforted, and thus companioned, snuggles into bed. The road seems very dark and long to you; the hand-clasp of a friend, a smile that's true, and that grim darkness is dispersed by love and brightly shines the sun or moon above. The mind that gropes in darkness for the truth, and sees a little light is rich, forsooth. ”

“ Here she was, however, framed in cloud, with a star or two about her, and a very tell-tale eye. The roof of the woods freezing across the park was a mass of dusky silver that her beams had thrown, and so bold and sharp her glow was on every twig that slept that individual things stood forth and stared at me, and seemed endowed with the hue of noon in the middle of the night. And I am sure the hour was laid for an adventure, and crying for a deed. The light of the moon was made of pale romance, and bade the princess bare her casement, and the minstrel on the sward to sing. ”

“ When trembling voice brings forth that I do Stella love.
7
When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes,
In color black why wrapp'd she beams so bright?
Would she in beamy black, like painter wise,
Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light?
Or did she else that sober hue devise,
In object best to knit and strength our sight,
Lest if no veil those brave gleams did disguise,
They sun-like should more dazzle than delight?
Or would she her miraculous power show,
That whereas black seems Beauty's contrary,
She even if black doth make all beauties flow? ”

“ Suffering the evils both of the day and night,
While no night is more dark than is my day,
Nor no day hath less quiet than my night:
With such bad misture of my night and day,
That living thus in blackest winter night,
I feel the flames of hottest summer day.
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Stella, think not that I by verse seek fame,
Who seek, who hope, who love, who live but thee;
Thine eyes my pride, thy lips my history:
If thou praise not, all other praise is shame. ”

“ Why, Stella, should you knit your brow, If I compare you to a cow? 'Tis just the case; for you have fasted So long, till all your flesh is wasted; And must against the warmer days Be sent to Quilca down to graze; Where mirth, and exercise, and air, Will soon your appetite repair: The nutriment will from within, Round all your body, plump your skin; Will agitate the lazy flood, And fill your veins with sprightly blood. Nor flesh nor blood will be the same Nor aught of Stella but the name: For what was ever understood, By human kind, but flesh and blood? ”

“ I’ll be glad when spring comes, and takes the razor-edge out of this northern air. We’ll have half a month of mud first, I suppose. But “there’s never anything without something,” as Mrs. Teetzel very sagely announced the other day. That sour-apple philosopher, by the way, is taking her departure to-morrow. And I’m not half so sorry as I pretend to be. She’s made me feel like an intruder in my own home. And she’s a soured and venomous old ignoramus, for she sneered openly at my bath-thermometer and defies Poppsy and Pee-Wee to survive the winter without a “comfort.” ”

“ Seven years ago Mary had loved this man from whom she was now escaping, the very sight of whom in her home she could not bear. Love was as uncertain as everything else—it came and it was gone. 64Mary had once loved Julian as Peter now loved Stella—and look at her!... Oh, you could never be sure. And there was so much in Stella he was not sure of—and she might change—he might change; only places never changed—were always the same. Starvecrow would always be to him, whether at eighteen, thirty-eight or eighty, the same Starvecrow.... ”

“ Skirting the stream out toward the higher back woods, I chanced to spy a bunch of snow in one of the great sour gums, that I thought was an old nest. A second look showed me tiny green leaves, then white berries, then mistletoe.
It was not a surprise, for I had found it here before,—a long, long time before. It was back in my school-boy days, back beyond those twenty years, that I first stood here under the mistletoe and had my first romance. There was no chandelier, no pretty girl, in that romance,—only a boy, the mistletoe, the giant trees, and the somber, silent swamp. ”

“ And Swift, I think, never came nearer to insupportable grief than when he heard—on an absence in London, a few years thereafter—that Stella was dying week by week.
“Poor Stella,” “dear Stella,” “poor soul,” break into his letters—break, doubtless, into his speech on solitary walks; but in others’ presence his dignity and coldness are all assured. There is rarely breakdown where man or woman can see him. ”

“ Blue eyes of baby, hushaby, lullaby, now must they close 'neath their curtains so white. The thrush has ceased singing, hushaby, lullaby, pink and white blossom, I kiss you good-night. The white woolly lambkins are peacefully sleeping, hushaby, lullaby, gold-haloed head. O'er the gold of the meadows a grey mist is creeping, the wings of the angels now curtain your bed. Pink and white blossom, hushaby, lullaby. Your cot is a garden, the fairest I know. Rose petals your cheeks are, hushaby, lullaby, and the curls on the pillow like buttercups glow! ”

“ Father has such boisterous ways, bellows words of petting praise, flings him high into the air. "Oh!" shrieks mother, "do take care." 'Tis four o'clock, he's been to sleep and yet he's not allowed to creep; not allowed the happiness of sucking bits of his clean dress. He has to sit in his high chair and let a lot of people stare. They bring him things to touch and squeeze, and sister plagues him to say "please." Then someone cries, "Now, Baby, look! Here is a lovely picture book." And someone else says, "Here's a bunny, a soft, white woolly one, for Sonny." He's feeling bored. ”

“ If a man falls from a horse, must I take physic for that?—This arguing makes you mad; but it is true right reason, not to be disproved.—I am glad at heart to hear poor Stella is better; use exercise and walk, spend pattens and spare potions, wear out clogs and waste claret. Have you found out my pun of the fishmonger? don’t read a word more till you have got it. And Stella is handsome again, you say? and is she fat? I have sent to Leigh the set of Examiners: the first thirteen were written by several hands, some good, some bad ”

“ Vava flushed with pleasure. 'Really? Then Miss Overall doesn't think it a mad idea? Stella did not believe you were serious, or that Miss Overall would like it; but if she does I shouldn't wonder if Stella would agree to doing it. She said it might be possible some day; but not yet, of course.'
'Some day may mean years hence, when we are all dead, or too old to enjoy a garden of our own. Just fancy sowing flower-seeds and watching them growing every day, and having our own vegetables! ”

“ This drew us in at first to find In such a form an angel's mind; And every virtue now supplies The fainting rays of Stella's eyes. See, at her levee crowding swains, Whom Stella freely entertains With breeding, humour, wit, and sense, And puts them to so small expense; Their minds so plentifully fills, And makes such reasonable bills, So little gets for what she gives, We really wonder how she lives! ”

“ I wish MD walked half as much as Presto. If I was with you, I’d make you walk; I would walk behind or before you, and you should have masks on, and be tucked up like anything; and Stella is naturally a stout walker, and carries herself firm; methinks I see her strut, and step clever over a kennel; and Dingley would do well enough if her petticoats were pinned up; but she is so embroiled, and so fearful, and then Stella scolds, and Dingley stumbles, and is so daggled. [336a] Have you got the whalebone petticoats among you yet? I hate them; a woman here may hide a moderate gallant under them. ”

“ He rocked the baby-buds to sleep when they grew impatient before it was time to blossom; he kept grubs from harming the delicate leaves of the flowers, and brought cool winds to refresh them when the sun was hot.
The rose was always good to him, and when the other plants wondered who did so many kind things, she said to them,—
"It is Thistle, and he is so changed I am sure we may trust him. He hides by day for no one is friendly, but by night he works or sits alone, [Pg 39] and sobs and sighs so sadly I cannot sleep for pity." ”