A faint sweetness was in the air from the
honeysuckle arbour outside, which led into the box-bordered walks of the
garden.
As the Governor hung up his hat, he begun at once with his daily news of
the farm. "I hope they'll get that wheat field done to-day," he said: "but
it doesn't look much like it--they've been dawdling over it for the last
three days. I am afraid Wilson isn't much of a manager, after all; if I
take my eyes off him, he seems to lose his head."
"I think everything is that way," returned his wife, looking up from one of
the elaborately tucked and hemstitched shirt fronts which served to gratify
the Governor's single vanity. "I'm sure Aunt Pussy says she can't trust
Judy for three days in the dairy without finding that the cream has stood
too long for butter--and Judy has been churning for twenty years." She cut
off her thread and held the linen out for the Governor's inspection. "I
really believe that is the prettiest one I've made. How do you like this
new stitch?"
"Exquisite!" exclaimed her husband, as he took the shirt front in his hand.
"Simply exquisite, my love. There isn't a woman in Virginia who can do such
needlework; but it should go upon a younger and handsomer man, Julia."
His wife blushed and looked up at him, the colour rising to her beautiful
brow and giving a youthful radiance to her nunlike face. "It could
certainly go upon a younger man, Mr. Ambler," she rejoined, with a touch of
the coquetry for which she had once been noted; "but I should like to know
where I'd find a handsomer one.
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