human
The planting of the rose was a heavenly inspiration if it does 'fix Tom!' We'll call Tom the Chinese Enemy. No, we'll call him the Yellow Peril,
gpt
I don't see why you didn't go over to Germany yourself, Nancy, and take a trunk of samples! cried Mrs. Carey, wiping the tears of merriment from her eyes.
human
I can't think what the postage on your letter must have been.
gpt
Ten cents, Nancy confessed,
human
I can't remember why I told him about Mother Carey's chickens, said Nancy reflectively.
gpt
It just seemed to come in naturally. The Yellow Peril must be rather nice, as well as his father, even if he is our enemy. That was clever of him, putting his grandmother in the brick oven!
human
A delightful, warm, kind, friendly letter, said Mother Carey, folding it with a caressing hand.
gpt
I wish your father could have read it.
human
He doesn't say a word about his children,
gpt
You evidently gave him the history of your whole family, but he confines himself to his own life.
human
He mentions 'my son Tom' frequently enough, but there's not a word of Mrs. Hamilton.
gpt
No, but there's no reason there should be, especially!
human
If he loved her he couldn't keep her out, said Nancy shrewdly.
gpt
She just isn't in the story at all. Could any of us write a chronicle of any house we ever lived in, and leave you out?
human
You have a few 'instinks' yourself, little daughter, she said with a swift pat on the rosy cheek.
gpt
Now, Peter, put your marbles in the pocket of your blue jeans, and take the milk pail from under the bushes; we must hurry or there'll be no chowder.
human
The fish man didn't come, she said,
gpt
Not a bit; we'll have a real jollification, because Nancy has some good news to tell you!
human
The dinner isn't quite appropriate for a jollification, Kitty observed anxiously.
gpt
Is the news good enough to warrant opening a jar or a can of anything?
human
Open all that doth hap to be closed, cried Nancy, embracing Olive excitedly.
gpt
Light the bonfires on the encroaching hills. Set casks a-tilt, and so forth.
human
It's the German letter!
gpt
What is the dinner, Kitty?
human
New potatoes and string beans from the aft garden. Stale bread made into milk toast to be served as a course. Then, not that it has anything to do with the case, but just to give a style to the meal, Julia has made a salad out of the newspaper.
gpt
It was only the memory of Julia's last newspaper salad! she murmured when the usual restoratives had been applied.
human
Prithee, poppet, what hast dropped into the dish to-day?
gpt
It will, said Nancy oracularly,
human
Rather a dull salad I call it, commented Gilbert.
gpt
Lacks the snap of the last one. No mention of boned sprats, or snails in aspic, calves' foot jelly, iced humming birds, pickled edelweiss, or any of those things kept habitually in the cellars of families like ours. No dash of Jamaica ginger or Pain-killer or sloe gin or sarsaparilla to give it piquancy. Unless Julia can find a paper that gives more up-to-date advice to its country subscribers, we'll have to transfer her from the kitchen department to the woodshed.