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Crowley, Mary Catherine

"Apples, Ripe and Rosy, Sir"

How she
got through the lines I can't make out, unless she got round 'em some
way, comin' through the woods. Anyway she's here, and likely never to
get any farther in her search, pore honey! But what's her name, or who
her people are, is more nor I can say; for, cur'ous as it seems, she
has plum forgotten these two things.
"Thar's another matter, too, that bothers us some. She keeps a-callin'
for somebody, an' beggin' an' prayin' us not to let her die without
somethin', in a way that would melt the heart of a rock. It makes me
grow hot an' then cold all in a minute, jest a-listenin' to her.
To-day she war plum out of her head, an' war goin' to get right up an'
go off through the woods after it herself. Mirandy had a terrible time
with her; an' it wasn't till she got all wore out from sheer weakness
that she quieted down an' fell asleep, jest a leetle before yer
'peared, strangers. What it is she keeps entreatin' an' beseechin' for
we never can make out, though I'd cut my hand off to get it for her,
she's sech a patient, grateful leetle soul. But"--Josh started up; a
sudden hope had dawned upon him as he looked across at Father Friday's
strong, kind face--"perhaps you could tell.


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