The abandoned farm, and Connie's mistakeHolmes, Mary Jane
General
The abandoned farm, and Connie's mistake
Holmes, Mary Jane
American fiction -- 20th century
Connie nodded her little wise head, wiser in some respects than her aunt
suspected. She was wondering what the old-fashioned things were she was
to see, and what _quaint_ and _hunks_ meant. She liked to know the
meaning of things, and hunted for the words in a dictionary. She missed
_hunks_, but found _quaint_, the multiplicity of whose definitions
bewildered her. She fixed, however, upon two, _odd_ and _antique_. She
knew what the latter meant. Her aunt had a craze for antiques, and gave
a great price for them. Perhaps she could buy some at the farmhouse out
of her pocket money, and give her aunt for a Christmas present. Hers,
bought in advance, was the doll-house, for which twenty-five dollars had
been paid. She was rather sorry to leave it, but a trip in the cars was
always delightful to her, and it was a very happy child who, on the day
before Christmas, started for The 4 Corners.
Meantime, at the farmhouse there had been a good deal of excitement on
the receipt of Mrs. Hart’s letter.
“What shall we do with ’em if it stays as cold as it is now, and nothing
but a fireplace in the best room and guest chamber? They’ll freeze to
death. I wish they had come in the summer,” Mrs. Stannard said, while
Kenneth took a more hopeful view of the situation.
He would much rather they had come in the summer, but would make the
best of it and try to keep them warm, he said. If there was any work
Kenneth hated it was splitting wood. Now, however, he put aside his
dislike, and, remembering how cold the parlor and guest chamber were, he
employed his leisure time when out of school in sawing and splitting
wood, until his mother said he had enough “to roast an ox.” There were
two piles, the parlor pile and the upstairs pile, the latter finer and
of a kind which would kindle quickly.
“If Mrs. Hart doesn’t mind I shall creep into her room before she is
wake and make a roaring fire. That’s the way Tom Haynes’ niggers do, and
he thinks we are niggers,” Kenneth said to his mother, with some
bitterness in his tone, for Harry’s letter rankled a little.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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