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Updated: July 7, 2025
But it was not the transformation of her dress alone that amazed him. She was changed in another way. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes glowed with a strange and wonderful radiance as she looked at him. Her lips were red, as he had seen them that first time at Cardigan's place.
"You are wet," she said. "And I am afraid you will catch cold. Come with me!" Again she was making fun of him just as she had made fun of him at Cardigan's! She turned, and he ran upstairs behind her. At the top she waited for him, and as he came up, she reached out her hand, as if apologizing for having taken it from him when they entered the bungalow.
But it was one of the pumps that Kent picked up and crushed close to his ragged breast one of the two she had worn that first wonderful day she had come to see him at Cardigan's place. This hour was the beginning of another change in Kent.
Another sound of a word spoken, another slight inarticulate suggestion of laughter; and I knew with an assured knowledge that my friend Cadet Thorold, and no other, was the gentleman in Miss Cardigan's parlour with whom she had business. I sat up and forgot my books. The first impulse was to go in immediately and show myself. I can hardly tell what restrained me.
So suddenly that he startled her he was at her side. He did not hesitate this time, as he had hesitated in his room at Cardigan's place. He caught her two hands in his, and with them he felt the soft, damp crush of her hair between his fingers. Words tumbled from his lips. He could not remember afterward all that he said. Her eyes widened, and they never for an instant left his own. Thank her!
All those men who earn a living in Cardigan's mill and on Cardigan's dock those sailors who sail the ships that carry Cardigan's lumber into the distant marts of men are dependent upon me; and my father used to tell me not to fail them. Must my father have wrought all this in vain? And must I stand by and see all this go to satisfy the overwhelming ambition of a stranger?" His big hands clenched.
As he turned from the telephone, his father looked up. "What are you going to do to-morrow, lad?" he queried. "I have to do some thinking to-morrow," Bryce answered. "So I'm going up into Cardigan's Redwoods to do it. Up there a fellow can get set, as it were, to put over a thought with a punch in it." "The dogwoods and rhododendron are blooming now," the old man murmured wistfully.
I succeeded in filling my head with work and being very happy in it. That is, whenever I could forget more important things. One evening, I think before the end of April, I asked permission to spend the evening at Miss Cardigan's. I had on hand a piece of study for which I wanted to consult certain books which I knew were in her library. Mlle. Genevieve gave me leave gladly.
It was an oppressive and torturing thing, like the tree that had fallen on him over in the Jackfish country, and he felt himself slipping off into darkness. Suddenly there was a gleam of light. He opened his eyes. The sun was flooding in at his window, and the weight on his chest was the gentle pressure of Cardigan's stethoscope.
"What sort of discourse did the flowers hold to you, little one?" said Miss Cardigan's kind voice; while her stout person hid all view of me that could have been had through the glass door. "Papa is away," I said, forcing myself to speak, "and mamma; and we used to have these flowers " "Yes, yes; I know. I know very well," said my friend. "The flowers didn't know but you were there yet.
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