"Pheasants for dinner are rubbish,--mere rubbish," he
said to himself, over and over again, as he went along the road;
and they were the first words which he spoke to his mother, after
entering the house.
"I wish we had some of that sort of rubbish," said she.
"So you will, to-morrow"; and then he described to her his interview.
"The earl was, at any rate, quite right about lying upon the ground.
I wonder you can be so foolish. And he is right about your poor
father too. But you have got to change your boots; and we shall be
ready for dinner almost immediately."
But Johnny Eames, before he sat down to dinner, did write his letter
to Amelia, and did go out to post it with his own hands,--much to
his mother's annoyance. But the letter would not get itself written
in that strong and appropriate language which had come to him as he
was roaming through the woods. It was a bald letter, and somewhat
cowardly withal.
DEAR AMELIA [the letter ran],
I have received both of yours; and did not answer the first
because I felt that there was a difficulty in expressing
what I wish to say; and now it will be better that you
should allow the subject to stand over till I am back in
town.
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