Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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She was almost as white as the gown she wore. Her neatly shod feet rested upon a cushion, and her black hair, that had been closely cut, was beginning to make little rings about her temples.
âAie!â he cried sharply, at sight of her, grasping his seamed throat as he did so. Then he laughed like a madman, and then he sobbed.
He only sobbed, kneeling upon the floor beside her, kissing her knees and her hands, that sought his. Little Nonomme was close to her, with a health flush creeping into his cheek. Veveste and Jacques were there, and rather awed by the mystery and grandeur of everything.
âWâereâbouts you find her, Mâsieur Duplan?â Sylveste asked, when the first flush of his joy had spent itself, and he was wiping his eyes with his rough cotton shirt sleeve.
âMâsieur Duplan find me âway yonda to de city, papa, in de hospital,â spoke Lolotte, before the planter could steady his voice to reply. âI did nâ know who evâybody was, me. I did nâ know me, myseâf, tell I tuân rounâ one day anâ see Mâsieur Duplan, wâat stanâen dere.â
âYou was bounâ to know Mâsieur Duplan, Lolotte,â laughed Sylveste, like a child.
âYes, anâ I know right âway how dem mule was git frightenâ wâen de boat wâistle fu stop, anâ pitch me plumb on de grounâ. Anâ I rememba it was one mulĂątresse wâat call herseâf one chembamed, all de time aside me.â
âYou must not talk too much, Lolotte,â interposed Madame Duplan, coming to place her hand with gentle solicitude upon the girlâs forehead, and to feel how her pulse beat.
Then to save the child further effort of speech, she herself related how the boat had stopped at this lonely landing to take on a load of cottonseed. Lolotte had been found stretched insensible by the river, fallen apparently from the clouds, and had been taken on board.
The boat had changed its course into other waters after that trip, and had not returned to Duplanâs Landing. Those who had tended Lolotte and left her at the hospital supposed, no doubt, that she would make known her identity in time, and they had troubled themselves no further about her.
âAnâ dah you is!â almost shouted aunt Minty, whose black face gleamed in the doorway; âdah you is, settinâ down, lookinâ jisâ like wâite folks!â
âAinât I always was wâite folks, Aunt Mint?â smiled Lolotte, feebly.
âGâlong, chile. You knows me. I donâ mean no harm.â
âAnd now, Sylveste,â said Mr. Duplan, as he rose and started to walk the floor, with hands in his pockets, âlisten to me. It will be a long time before Lolotte is strong again. Aunt Minty is going to look after things for you till the child is fully recovered. But what I want to say is this: I shall trust these children into your hands once more, and I want you never to forget again that you are their fatherâ âdo you hear?â âthat you are a man!â
Old Sylveste stood with his hand in Lolotteâs, who rubbed it lovingly against her cheek.
âBy gracious! Mâsieur Duplan,â he answered, âwâen God want to heâp me, Iâm goen try my besâ!â
A Very Fine FiddleWhen the half dozen little ones were hungry, old Cléophas would take the fiddle from its flannel bag and play a tune upon it. Perhaps it was to drown their cries, or their hunger, or his conscience, or all three. One day Fifine, in a rage, stamped her small foot and clinched her little hands, and declared:
âItâs no two wayâ! Iâm goinâ smash it, dat fiddle, some day in a tâousanâ pieceâ!â
âYou musâ nâ do dat, Fifine,â expostulated her father. âDat fiddle been olâer âan you anâ me târee timeâ put togedder. You done yaird me tell often ânough âbout dat Italien wâat give it to me wâen he die, âlong yonder befoâ de war. Anâ he say, âClĂ©ophas, dat fiddleâ âdat one part my lifeâ âwâat goinâ live wâen I be deadâ âDieu merci!â You talkinâ too fasâ, Fifine.â
âWell, Iâm goinâ do someâinâ wid dat fiddle, va!â returned the daughter, only half mollified. âMine wâat I say.â
So once when there were great carryings-on up at the big plantationâ âno end of ladies and gentlemen from the city, riding, driving, dancing, and making music upon all manner of instrumentsâ âFifine, with the fiddle in its flannel bag, stole away and up to the big house where these festivities were in progress.
No one noticed at first the little barefoot girl seated upon a step of the veranda and watching, lynx-eyed, for her opportunity.
âItâs one fiddle I got for sell,â she announced, resolutely, to the first who questioned her.
It was very funny to have a shabby little girl sitting there wanting to sell a fiddle, and the child was soon surrounded.
The lustreless instrument was brought forth and examined, first with amusement, but soon very seriously, especially by three gentlemen: one with very long hair that hung down, another with equally long hair that stood up, the third with no hair worth mentioning.
These three turned the fiddle upside down and almost inside out. They thumped upon it, and listened. They scraped upon it, and listened. They walked into the house with it, and out of the house with it, and into remote corners with it. All this with much putting of heads together, and talking together in familiar and unfamiliar languages. And, finally, they sent Fifine away with a fiddle twice as beautiful as the one she had brought, and a roll of money besides!
The child was dumb with astonishment, and away she flew. But when she stopped beneath a big chinaberry-tree, to further scan the roll of money, her wonder was redoubled. There was far more than
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