They watched beside her, but never knew the moment of her going;
it was just a silent flitting, a ceasing to be, without a tremor,
or a flutter that could be seen by mortal eye. Her face was so
like an angel's in its shining serenity that the few who loved
her best could not look upon her with anything but reverent joy.
On earth she had known nothing but the "broken arcs," but in
heaven she would find the "perfect round"; there at last, on the
other side of the stars, she could remember right, poor Lois
Boynton!
For weeks afterwards the village was shrouded in snow as it had
never been before within memory, but in every happy household the
home-life deepened day by day. The books came out in the long
evenings; the grandsires told old tales under the inspiration of
the hearth-fire: the children gathered on their wooden stools to
roast apples and pop corn; and hearts came closer together than
when summer called the housemates to wander here and there in
fields and woods and beside the river.
Over at Boyntons', when the snow was whirling and the wind
howling round the chimneys of the high-gabled old farmhouse; when
every window had its frame of ermine and fringe of icicles, and
the sleet rattled furiously against the glass, then Ivory would
throw a great back log on the bank of coals between the
fire-dogs, the kettle would begin to sing, and the eat come from
some snug corner to curl and purr on the braided hearth-rug.
Pages:
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334