"It is our Father's house," I reminded her.
"But I don't want to be made to feel like a spanked child, in
anybody's house!" Alicia said, resentfully.
"You say that because you're Irish."
"You say I say it because I'm Irish because you're English." Then
she screwed up her mouth like a coral button, and squinted her eyes:
"I'm Irish, and you're English, and we're both American. Sophy,
let's join my Irish and your English to our Yankee, and teach this
town a lesson!"
"Barkis is willin'. But in the meantime let's go home and see what
Mary Magdalen has for lunch."
We walked slowly, enjoying the calm, lovely late-summer day.
Hyndsville at its best was a big, green, sprawling old town, a
quaint, unpainted, leisurely, flowery, bird-haunted place, with
glorious trees, and do-as-they-please, independent gardens. Nobody
ever seemed to be in a hurry, and at first we used to wonder how
they ever got anything done, or kept pace with the moving world; yet
they did. Only, they did it without haste and without noise. And
they were _always_ polite. Though they should take your substance,
your reputation, or even, perhaps, your life, they would do it like
ladies and gentlemen.
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