Mary Ware in TexasJohnston, Annie F. (Annie Fellows)
General
Mary Ware in Texas
Johnston, Annie F. (Annie Fellows)
Texas -- Juvenile fiction; Young women -- Juvenile fiction
She read for over two hours. When the story came to an unhappy ending
she dropped the book, wishing she had never come across such a tale of
misfortune and misunderstanding. It depressed her strangely, and
presently, as she sat looking into the fire, the unbroken quiet of the
big room gave her an overwhelming sense of loneliness that was like an
ache.
"I'd give anything to walk in and see what they're all doing at home
right now," she thought, as she stared into the red embers, "but I can't
even picture them as they really are, because they are no longer living
in any place that I ever called home."
The thought of their being off in a strange little Texas town that she
had never seen made her feel far more forlorn and apart than she would
have felt could she have imagined them with any of the familiar
backgrounds she had once shared with them. They seemed as far away and
out of reach as they had been that winter in France, when she used to
climb up in Monsieur Greyville's pear tree and cry for sheer
homesickness. That was years ago, and before the Gate of the Giant
Scissors had opened to give her a playmate, but she recalled, as if it
were but yesterday, the performance that often took place in the pear
tree.
She began by repeating that couplet from _Snowbound_,--
"The dear home faces, whereupon
The fitful firelight paled and shone."
It was like a charm, for it always brought a blur of tears through which
she could see, as in a magic mirror, each home face as she had seen it
oftenest in the little brown house in Plainsville. There was her mother,
so patient and gentle and tired, bending over the sewing which never
came to an end; and Jack, charging home from school like a young
whirlwind to do his chores and get out to play. She could see Mary, with
her dear earnest little freckled face and beribboned pigtails, always so
eager to help, even when she was so small that she had to stand on a
soap-box to reach the dish-pan. Such a capable, motherly little atom she
was then, looking after the wants of Holland and the baby untiringly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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