The abandoned farm, and Connie's mistakeHolmes, Mary Jane
General
The abandoned farm, and Connie's mistake
Holmes, Mary Jane
American fiction -- 20th century
I’d like to see you all, of course, but you
will keep, and the invitation to Cedar Bank won’t. Give my love to Aunt
Mary and kiss her for me, and Uncle Ephraim, too, if he will let you.
Give old Chance a pat on the head. I think a good deal of him as a dog.
Tom knows about him and the dozen cats,—I think I said two dozens,—who
eat out of the trough. He wants to see them awfully. He is nearly as
great on cats as you are.
“Very lovingly, your cousin,
“HAL.”
Kenneth read this letter twice, with a swelling in his heart as if it
would burst. For himself he did not care, but he did not like to have
his father and mother mistaken for darkies. It was humiliating, and it
hurt him. He didn’t like the way Harry spoke of the house, as if he were
ashamed of it, but more than all he was disappointed. He had anticipated
Harry’s coming home, and wanted to show him his standing in the
Millville Academy, and to compare notes as to which knew the most of
Latin, and to show off his dancing steps and bows, and possibly get Hal
to coach him a little, he was so well posted on such matters. Then there
were so many things to make Harry’s home coming pleasant. Quantities of
walnuts and butternuts and chestnuts, which he had gathered during the
autumn, when he had a leisure hour, were ranged in rows on the ball-room
floor. The finest clusters of grapes had been wrapped in paper bags, and
put away where they would not freeze, for Harry was fond of grapes, and
apples, too, and the largest and best of Baldwins and Kings were on the
top of the barrels in the cellar ready for him, while over and above all
was the present Kenneth had bought for him with money saved from his own
rather scanty allowance, a pearl-handled pocket knife with three blades,
for which he had given a dollar. There were the soft wool mittens his
mother had knit and the skates his father had bought, all waiting for
Hal, who was not coming to claim them, and whose friend, Tom Haynes,
thought them all negroes and the Morris Place a palace! It was hard, and
Kenneth swallowed and winked a good many times before he could force
back the tears from his eyes and the lump from his throat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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