Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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âLaw! La Chatte, you ainâ gwine hinder a gemman fâom payinâ intentions to a young lady wâen he a mine to.â
âDat all I got to say,â returned La Chatte, seating herself lazily and heavily on the doorstep. âNobody donâ know dem Sanchun boys bettah âan I does. Did nâ I done part raise âem? Wâat you reckon my haâr all tuân plumb wâite dat-a-way ef it warnât dat Placide wâat done it?â
âHow come he make yoâ haâr tuân wâite, La Chatte?â
âDevâment, puâ devâment, Rose. Did nâ he come in dat same cabin one day, wâen he warnât no bigga âan dat Presâdent Hayes wâat you sees gwine âlong de road wid dat cotton sack âcrost âim? He come anâ sets down by de doâ, on dat same târee-laigged stool wâat youâs a-settinâ on now, wid his gun in his hanâ, anâ he say: âLa Chatte, I wants some croquignoles, anâ I wants âem quick, too.â I âlow: âGâ âway fâom dah, boy. Donâ you see Iâs flutinâ yoâ maâs petticoat?â He say: âLa Chatte, put âside dat ar flutinâ-iâon anâ dat ar petticoat;â anâ he cock dat gun anâ pâint it to my head. âDar de baâel,â he say; âgit out dat flour, git out dat butta anâ dat aigs; step rounâ dah, ole âoman. Dis heah gun donâ quit yoâ head tell dem croquignoles is on de table, wid a wâite table-clof anâ a cup oâ coffee.â Ef I goes to de baâel, de gunâs a-pâintinâ. Ef I goes to de fiah, de gunâs ar-pâintinâ. Wâen I rolls out de dough, de gunâs a-pâintinâ; anâ him neva say nuttinâ, anâ me a-trimâlinâ like ole Uncle Noah wâen de misâry strike âim.â
âLordy! wâat you reckon he do ef he tuân rounâ anâ git mad wid dat young gemman fâom de city?â
âI donâ reckon nuttinâ; I knows wâat he gwine doâ âsame wâat his pa done.â
âWâat his pa done, La Chatte?â
âGâ âlong âbout yoâ business; youâs axinâ too many questions.â And La Chatte arose slowly and went to gather her party-colored wash that hung drying on the jagged and irregular points of a dilapidated picket-fence.
But the darkies were mistaken in supposing that Offdean was paying attention to Euphrasie. Those little jaunts in the wood were purely of a business character. Offdean had made a contract with a neighboring mill for fencing, in exchange for a certain amount of uncut timber. He had made it his workâ âwith the assistance of Euphrasieâ âto decide upon what trees he wanted felled, and to mark such for the woodmanâs axe.
If they sometimes forgot what they had gone into the woods for, it was because there was so much to talk about and to laugh about. Often, when Offdean had blazed a tree with the sharp hatchet which he carried at his pommel, and had further discharged his duty by calling it âa fine piece of timber,â they would sit upon some fallen and decaying trunk, maybe to listen to a chorus of mockingbirds above their heads, or to exchange confidences, as young people will.
Euphrasie thought she had never heard anyone talk quite so pleasantly as Offdean did. She could not decide whether it was his manner or the tone of his voice, or the earnest glance of his dark and deep-set blue eyes, that gave such meaning to everything he said; for she found herself afterward thinking of his every word.
One afternoon it rained in torrents, and Rose was forced to drag buckets and tubs into Offdeanâs room to catch the streams that threatened to flood it. Euphrasie said she was glad of it; now he could see for himself.
And when he had seen for himself, he went to join her out on a corner of the gallery, where she stood with a cloak around her, close up against the house. He leaned against the house, too, and they stood thus together, gazing upon as desolate a scene as it is easy to imagine.
The whole landscape was gray, seen through the driving rain. Far away the dreary cabins seemed to sink and sink to earth in abject misery. Above their heads the live-oak branches were beating with sad monotony against the blackened roof. Great pools of water had formed in the yard, which was deserted by every living thing; for the little darkies had scampered away to their cabins, the dogs had run to their kennels, and the hens were puffing big with wretchedness under the scanty shelter of a fallen wagon-body.
Certainly a situation to make a young man groan with ennui, if he is used to his daily stroll on Canal Street, and pleasant afternoons at the club. But Offdean thought it delightful. He only wondered that he had never known, or someone had never told him, how charming a place an old, dismantled plantation can beâ âwhen it rains. But as well as he liked it, he could not linger there forever. Business called him back to New Orleans, and after a few days he went away.
The interest which he felt in the improvement of this plantation was of so deep a nature, however, that he found himself thinking of it constantly. He wondered if the timber had all been felled, and how the fencing was coming on. So great was his desire to know such things that much correspondence was required between himself and Euphrasie, and he watched eagerly for those letters that told him of her trials and vexations with carpenters, bricklayers, and shingle-bearers. But in the midst of it, Offdean suddenly lost interest in the progress of work on the plantation. Singularly enough, it happened simultaneously with the arrival of a letter from Euphrasie which announced in a modest postscript that she was going down to the city with the Duplans for Mardi Gras.
VIWhen
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