Andy was laid up with rheumatism toward spring; but Tim Jones used to
bring him the papers, rolling his quid of tobacco rapidly from side to
side as he pointed to the paragraphs so interesting to both. Tim hardly
knew whether himself, or Richard, or Melinda, was the governor. On the
whole, he gave the preference to "Melind," after the governor's levee,
at which she had appeared in "royal purple, with ostrich feathers in her
hair," and was described in the Camden _Leader_ as the "elegant and
accomplished Mrs. James Markham, who had received the guests with so
much dignity and grace."
"Ain't Melind a brick? and only to think how she used to milk the cows,
and I once chased her with a garter snake," Tim said, reading the
article aloud to Andy, who, while assenting that she was a brick, and
according all due credit to her for what she was, and what she did,
never for a moment forgot Ethelyn.
She would have done so much better, and looked so much neater,
especially her shoes! Andy could not quite forgive Melinda's big feet
and ankles, especially as his contempt for such appendages was
constantly kept in mind by the sight of the little half-worn slippers
which Ethie had left in her closet when she moved to Camden, and which,
now that she was gone, he kept as something almost as sacred as Daisy's
hair, admiring the dainty rosettes and small high heels more than he
admired the whole of Melinda's wardrobe when spread upon the bed, and
tables, and chairs, preparatory to packing it for Des Moines.
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