Transmission; or, Variation of Character Through the MotherKirby, Georgiana Bruce
Science
Transmission; or, Variation of Character Through the Mother
Kirby, Georgiana Bruce
Heredity, Human
No, there were no nice people thereabouts; no kind Methodist preacher
visited them. They were sort of outside the “circuit.”
No, there was no school-teacher boarded with them. There was quite
a spell when there was a quarrel about whose land the school-house
occupied, and school didn’t keep more than three months any way.
In view of so much content in the midst of so much dirt and disorder,
it did not seem worth while to ask if any one had lent her books which
pleased her. However, the conversation evidently recalled pleasant
memories, for the weather-beaten countenance of the kind-hearted old
woman suddenly lit up, and her small eyes twinkled with happy light as
she said:
“We were awful poor about those times, and there was no look-out for
anything better. Some of the boys had come up here to see if they
couldn’t get better land. But we had no money to buy it with if there
was, and there was a book I must tell you about--a book that lifted me
right out of myself. You see there came along a peddler--’twas a wonder
how he ever got to such an out-of-the-way place--well, he unpacked his
traps, and among them was a little book with a lovely green and gold
cover. ’Twas the sweetest little thing you ever saw, and there was
just the nicest picture in the front. I saw ’twas poetry, and on the
first page it said, ‘The Lady of the Lake;’ that was all. I _did_ want
that book, and I had a couple of dollars in a stocking-foot on the
chimney-shelf, but a dollar was a big thing then, and I didn’t feel as
if I ought to indulge myself, so I said no, and saw him pack up his
things and travel.
“Then I could think of nothing but that book the rest of the day, I
wanted it so bad, and at night I couldn’t sleep for thinking of it. At
last I got up, and without making a bit of noise, dressed myself, and
walked four miles to Scranton Centre, where the peddler had told me he
should stay that night--at the Browns--friends of ours, they were, and
I got him up, and bought the book, and brought it back with me, just
as contented and satisfied as you can believe. I looked it over and
through, put it under my pillow, and slept soundly till morning.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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