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And I wanted to send a letter, you know, to let em know whar I was, and tell poor Chloe that I was well off,cause she felt so drefful, poor soul! I say Tom! said St. Clares voice, coming in the door at this moment. Tom and Eva both started. Whats here? said St. Clare, coming up and looking at the slate. O, its Toms letter. Im helping him to write it, said Eva; isnt it nice? I wouldnt discourage either of you, said St. Clare, but I rather think, Tom, youd better get me to write your letter for you. Ill do it, when I come home from my ride. Its very important he should write, said Eva, because his mistress is going to send down money to redeem him, you know, papa; he told me they told him so. St. Clare thought, in his heart, that this was probably only one of those things which good-natured owners say to their servants, to alleviate their horror of being sold, without any intention of fulfilling the expectation thus excited. But he did not make any audible comment upon it,only ordered Tom to get the horses out for a ride. Toms letter was written in due form for him that evening, and safely lodged in the post-office. Miss Ophelia still persevered in her labors in the housekeeping line. It was universally agreed, among all the household, from Dinah down to the youngest urchin, that Miss Ophelia was decidedly curis,a term by which a southern servant implies that his or her betters dont exactly suit them. The higher circle in the familyto wit, Adolph, Jane and Rosaagreed that she was no lady; ladies never keep working about as she did,that she had no air at all; and they were surprised that she should be any relation of the St. Clares. Even Marie declared that it was absolutely fatiguing to see Cousin Ophelia always so busy. And, in fact, Miss Ophelias industry was so incessant as to lay some foundation for the complaint. She sewed and stitched away, from daylight till dark, with the energy of one who is pressed on by some immediate urgency; and then, when the light faded, and the work was folded away, with one turn out came the ever-ready knitting-work, and there she was again, going on as briskly as ever. It really was a labor to see her. |
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