The Independence Day Horror at KillsburyCoolidge, Asenath Carver
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The Independence Day Horror at Killsbury
Coolidge, Asenath Carver
Children -- Death -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Fireworks -- Fiction; Fourth of July -- Fiction
"As long as Miss Schwarmer is there I feel as though the Hill has a
guardian angel--or a recording angel at least, Ralph."
"Be careful though. Don't let them harness you into doing any hard work at
the library. You know rich women are apt to do that sort of thing and you
have to be extra careful of your health just now. Your mother would never
forgive me if I should let you overdo while she is away."
"Don't be foolish, Ralph. You know how it has always been with papa and
mamma. They were over-solicitous. I was never so strong and healthy in my
life as I am now. I feel as though I could work, and should be glad to in
such a cause. Only think of it! The gift of books and books and books and
books instead of firecrackers and cartridges and toy pistols! An
invitation to come and help arrange them instead of an order to pack up
and leave the country to get rid of the horrible Fourth! Then the
exercises in the Library instead of the carnival of death and destruction.
Can you realize it, Ralph? Do you really take it all in?"
She seized hold of his arms and gave him a vigorous shaking up.
"You see Dombey got here first; but how well you are looking," exclaimed
Adelaide, when Ruth entered the library. "How plump and fair you have
grown since I was here! Let me kiss you."
A pink glow came to Ruth's cheek which made her pretty face look still
prettier, and had its effect on Adelaide also. She added shyly: "Are you
tired? Did you walk? I ought to have come for you in my phaeton."
"My husband brought me," replied Ruth, recovering herself in time to meet
the formal salutation and the cold discriminating glance of Mrs.
Schwarmer, with wifely dignity.
"I trust your father and mother are usually well. Perhaps I ought to have
sent for them to assist me in this matter; but Adelaide told me you were
very enthusiastic about the library and knew everything about books.
There's an alcove set aside for the very, very choice ones--books that no
one should be allowed to handle, who is ignorant of their value, so the
Librarian says; but he has so much to do, we are going to help him all we
can."
"Papa and mamma are in Chicago with an uncle who is very ill--not expected
to live day after day."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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