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Updated: July 8, 2025
She was thinking she knew very well why Lydia Orr had chosen to come to Brookville: in some way unknown to Fanny, Miss Orr had chanced to meet the incomparable Wesley Elliot, and had straightway set her affections upon him. Fanny had been thinking it over, ever since the night of the social at Mrs. Solomon Black's.
"I've been wanting to see you all day. But there are so few telephones in Brookville it is difficult to get word to people." He eyed her with stubborn resentment. "What I meant to say was that four dollars a day is too much! Don't you know anything about the value of money, Miss Orr?
Lydia had failed to properly understand it, at the time. Mrs. Solomon Black was given to cryptic remarks, and Lydia's mind had been preoccupied by the increasing difficulties which threatened the accomplishment of her purpose: "A person, coming into a town like Brookville to live, by rights had ought to have eyes in the backs of their heads," Mrs. Black had observed.
They stood for an instant, gazing into each other's eyes during one of those flashes of time which sometimes count for years. "Forgive me," he muttered huskily. "I'm a brute at best; but I had no business to speak to you as I did." "But why did you say what made you ever think I'd set about reforming that is what you said reforming Brookville? I never thought of such a thing! How could I?"
'Twouldn't be worth shucks after kickin' 'round folk's houses here in Brookville for the last fifteen years or so." "But you can't never find her at home, Henry," said Mrs. Daggett. "I been to see her lots of times; but Mis' Solomon Black says she don't stay in the house hardly long enough to eat her victuals." "Why don't you take the buggy, Abby, and drive out to the old place?" suggested Mr.
'W'y, s' she, 'th' ones 'at found him out in th' woods where he got lost, I s'pose. But come t' sift it right down t' facts, not one o' them ladies c'd tell f'r certain who 't was 'at found that body. The' was such an' excitement 'n' hullaballoo, nobody 'd thought t' ask. It wa'n't Deacon Whittle; n'r it wa'n't th' party from th' Brookville House; ner Hank Simonson, ner any o' the boys.
Ellen Dix caught at her friend's arm, her pretty face, with its full pouting lips and brilliant dark eyes upturned. "Well?" "Do you suppose You don't think Jim is mad at me for what I said about her, do you?" "I don't remember you said anything to make anybody mad. Come, let's go down, Ellen." "But, Fan, I was wondering if that girl Do you know I I kind of wish she hadn't come to Brookville.
Wesley Elliot returned to Brookville and his unfinished sermon by a long detour which led him over the shoulder of a hill overlooking the valley. He did not choose to examine his motive for avoiding the road along which Fanny Dodge would presently return.
While the loss of property about Brookville, the lumber centre of Pennsylvania, by the great flood has been enormous, variously estimated at from $250,000 to $500,000, not a single life has been lost. At least there have been none reported so far, and I have travelled over the line from Red Bank, on the Valley road, to Dubois, on the low grade division.
"We're not used to such things in Brookville." "Do you like it?" Lydia asked, doubtfully. "Why, of course," returned Fanny, the color rising swiftly to her face. She had caught a glimpse of Wesley Elliot edging his way past a group of the younger boys and girls, mad with the revelry of unlimited cake and ice cream.
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