Some local historian of his time will
doubtless give him more space; my wish is to have you know
something more of the circumstances that have made me a prisoner
in life instead of a free man; but prisoner as I am at the
moment, I am sustained just now by a new courage. I read in my
copy of Ovid last night: "The best of weapons is the undaunted
heart." This will help you, too, in your hard life, for yours is
the most undaunted heart in all the world.
IVORY BOYNTON
The chronicle of Jacob Cochrane's career in the little villages
near the Saco River has no such interest for the general reader
as it had for Waitstill Baxter. She hung upon every word that
Ivory had written and realized more clearly than ever before the
shadow that had followed him since early boyhood; the same shadow
that had fallen across his mother's mind and left, continual
twilight there.
No one really knew, it seemed, why or from whence Jacob Cochrane
had come to Edgewood. He simply appeared at the old tavern, a
stranger, with satchel in hand, to seek entertainment. Uncle Bart
had often described this scene to Waitstill, for he was one of
those sitting about the great open fire at the time. The man
easily slipped into the group and soon took the lead in
conversation, delighting all with his agreeable personality, his
nimble tongue and graceful speech.
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