Thrifty Stock, and Other StoriesWilliams, Ben Ames
General
Thrifty Stock, and Other Stories
Williams, Ben Ames
American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American
The girl, stormful and rebellious, had come out of the old farmhouse
above Fraternity, and without much caring in which direction she turned,
walked across the stubble of the freshly cut meadow toward the edge of
the woods at the crest of the hill. This meadow was really a high
plateau; it was fringed with bushes which grew along the crumbling stone
wall which bordered it, and with birch and wild cherry trees here and
there along its edge. Between these trees she could look abroad across a
wooded valley, down whose middle meandered the dead water of the
George’s River, backed up by the mill dam at the village. There had been
a light shower at dawn, scarce sufficient to settle the dust; and the
air, thus clarified, lent lovely colors to the countryside. Deep green
of hemlock and spruce and pine, straggling tracery of hackmatack,
lighter green of the birch tops almost yellow in the heart of the woods;
the blue of distant hillsides; the blue of the sky; the yellow glory of
sunlight drenching everything. In an uncut strip of meadow white daisies
bloomed. There were birds about. But to all these matters, Lucia Moore
was oblivious. She knew only that her father was stubborn and
unreasonable, her mother supine, the world at an ill turn. Drops of
water on the stubble wet her ankles; dust and water combined to muddy
her impracticable shoes; an occasional bramble tore at her silken
stockings. She came to the stone wall at the brink of the hill and chose
a large boulder half-shaded by an apple tree that was all run to
suckers, and sat down on it, her feet propped upon a stone below, her
elbows on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands. The girl’s eyes were
sulky, and her lips pouted. There was a hint of color not their own upon
these lips of hers, and her eyebrows were plucked to a thin line, their
smooth arch distorted by the frown she wore. Her gingham dress was
short, and her present posture revealed her thin, unformed legs, which
confirmed the almost emaciated slimness of her figure. She stared
unseeingly across the lovely land.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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