"You had scarcely
anything to say to Mrs. Carson."
"No, to be sure," said he. "But I expect I should like her.
By the way, do you know how you used to talk to me about coming
and living somewhere near you? How would you like me to take one
of your rooms now? I might cheer you up."
"No," said I, firmly. "That cannot be done. As things are
now, I have as much as I can do to get along here by myself."
Mrs. Carson did not hear from her son for nearly a week, and
then he wrote that he found it almost impossible to give her any
advice. He thought it was a very queer state of affairs. He had
never heard of anything like it. But he would try and arrange
his business so that he could come home in a week or two and look
into matters.
As I was thus compelled to force myself upon the close
neighborhood of Mrs. Carson and her daughter, I endeavored
to make things as pleasant as possible. I brought some of my men
down out of the vineyard, and set them to repairing fences,
putting the garden in order, and doing all that I could to remedy
the doleful condition of things which I had unwillingly brought
into the back yard of this quiet family. I rigged up a pump on
my back porch by which the water of the well could be
conveniently obtained, and in every way endeavored to repair
damages.
But Mrs. Carson never ceased to talk about the unparalleled
disaster which had come upon her, and she must have had a great
deal of correspondence with her son George, because she gave me
frequent messages from him.
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