Volume I Part 57 (2/2)
”What's been his business? what has he been doing all his life till now?” said the sewing-woman.
Fleda replied that he had had no business; and after the minds of the company had had time to entertain this statement, she was startled by Miss Lucy's voice at her elbow.
”It seems kind o' curious, don't it, that a man should live to be forty or fifty years old, and not know anything of the earth he gets his bread from?”
”What makes you think he don't?” said Miss Thornton, rather tartly.
”She wa'n't speaking o' n.o.body,” said aunt Syra.
”I was ? I was speaking of man ? I was speaking abstractly,”
said Fleda's right-hand neighbour.
”What's abstractly?” said Miss Anastasia, scornfully.
”Where do you get hold of such hard words, Lucy?” said Mrs.
Dougla.s.s.
”I don't know, Mis' Dougla.s.s, they come to me; it's practice, I suppose. I had no intention of being obscure.”
”One kind o' word 's as easy as another, I suppose, when you're used to it, aint it?” said the sewing-woman.
”What's abstractly?” said the mistress of the house, again.
”Look in the dictionary, if you want to know,” said her sister.
”I don't want to know ? I only want you to tell.”
”When do you get time for it, Lucy? ha'n't you nothing else to practise?” pursued Mrs. Dougla.s.s.
”Yes, Mis' Dougla.s.s; but then there are times for exertion, and other times less disposable; and when I feel thoughtful or low, I commonly retire to my room, and contemplate the stars, or write a composition.”
The sewing-woman greeted this speech with an unqualified ha!
ha! and Fleda involuntarily raised her head to look at the last speaker; but there was nothing to be noticed about her, except that she was in rather nicer order than the rest of the Finn family.
”Did you get home safe last night?” inquired Miss Quackenboss, bending forward over the quilt to look down to Fleda.
Fleda thanked her, and replied that they had been overturned, and had several ribs broken.
”And where have you been, Fleda, all this while?” said Mrs.
Dougla.s.s.
Fleda told, upon which all the quilting party raised their heads simultaneously, to take another review of her.
”Your uncle's wife aint a Frenchwoman, be she?” asked the sewing-woman.
Fleda said, ”Oh, no!” and Miss Quackenboss remarked, that ”she thought she wa'n't;” whereby Fleda perceived it had been a subject of discussion.
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