A Son of the HillsComstock, Harriet T. (Harriet Theresa)
General
A Son of the Hills
Comstock, Harriet T. (Harriet Theresa)
Fiction
I'm mighty glad to say something about this affair to some one who can
understand me. Imagine my feelings when, out of the blue, as one might
say, Lans brought this girl home and said, "I'm going to leave her with
you, Aunt Olive, until I can see my way clear. I am brother to her and
she is sister to me until--the way's made plain." That was all and
then Lans betook himself to his old quarters and began to work. He's
taken a position on the _Boston Beacon_ and calls, actually _calls_, on
his wife evenings or takes her and me out to theatres and dinners. I'm
supposed to be training this young woman, for what, heaven only knows!
but I have my hands full. Lans was always erratic and poetic, but this
is beyond my comprehension, He has had affairs of the heart, of course,
but this is different. The girl is the strangest creature I ever saw;
she is uncanny. After I got her into proper clothing I saw she had
beauty and charm of a certain kind. She takes to ways and expressions
mighty quick, and she is the sweet appealing kind that attracts even
while one disapproves. I confess I am utterly dumb-founded and if you
can throw any light on this matter, pray do so. The girl seems to me
to be half here and half somewhere else; she isn't unhappy, and she
seems to adore Lans in a detached and pretty childish way, but why did
he marry her and why should he, having married her, regard her in this
platonic fashion?
Of course Matilda could not answer these questions but she cried over
the letter a great deal and brooded over Sandy with all the motherhood
that nature had not legitimately utilized. And then, one night, Sandy
came to her quite simply and directly and claimed, in his great
suffering need, what she alone had to give.
It was the week before Christmas. The cabin was gay and festive, for
Marcia Lowe, in a lavishness of good cheer, had decorated everything
she could command beginning with the little chapel and ending with the
post-office. The County Club sat now 'neath an arbour of greens, and
the lowliest cabin had its spray of pine or holly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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