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Updated: May 3, 2025
The old people wept and smiled, and pressed and fondled their son in childish delight, and asked if it could be he, or did they not dream? and how he had been, and if he still set his heart on his western home. They rejoiced till midnight, and hurried each other with questions, and wearied each other with talk. "It looks pleasant as ever in Cloverdale," said Matthew. "Home is home, after all.
She lived in the country up the valley from Cloverdale. Her name was Alice Leigh, and she was a whole cut above the neighborhood. Jim said she was an artist, could do wonderful things with a brush and she was just wild to go somewhere and take lessons.
Aydelot asked. "Nobody seems to know exactly. He left just before his brother, Tank, married that Leigh girl up the Clover valley somewhere. But everything's settled for Asher. He will be marrying one of the Cloverdale girls pretty soon and stay right here in town. We'll take it up with him now. There's no use waiting." "And yet I wish we might wait till he speaks of it himself.
"Hush," Becky waved a warning hand. "There is," said the Judge, in a declamatory manner, "everything in a name. The Bannisters of Huntersfield, the Paines of King's Crest, the Randolphs of Cloverdale, do you think these things don't count, Truxton?" "I think there's a lot of rot in it," said young Beaufort, "when we were fighting for democracy over there " The shot told.
But I hope, little girl, I hope I'll fight as good a battle on my frontier as my father has done as you are doing. Good-night." He hurried away and, falling into the gay company at Bennington's, was welcomed by Jo as a penitent, and abundantly forgiven. While down at Cloverdale, Leigh Shirley sat long alone, looking with unseeing eyes at the twilight into which he had vanished.
He bargained for a farm of a hundred acres, and commenced its improvement, cutting the first tree with his own hands, and selecting, on an opening he had made, the site for a log house. On the approach of summer, by a neighbor who returned to the Hudson, he sent his parents the following letter: "Mr. Wilson starts to-morrow for Cloverdale, and I take this opportunity to write to you.
That morning, Leigh Shirley wrote a long letter to Jane Aydelot of Cloverdale, Ohio. Leigh had written many letters to her before, but never one with a plea like this. Miss Jane had mentally grown up with Leigh and had built many a romance about her, which was only hinted at in the letters she received.
The visitor to Clear Lake should go by way of the Napa Valley, taking stage for Lakeport at Calistoga, and return by way of the Russian River Valley, taking the railroad at Cloverdale. Thus he will see on his journey two of the richest and most fertile of the minor valleys of California, both abounding in fruit and vines as well as in grain.
"Noble and thoughtful man!" was all Mary Jones could exclaim, as she hid her face in her hands and burst into a flood of tears. The bells of Cloverdale are ringing merrily. It is a wedding. "How beautiful they look!" is the exclamation that passes from lip to lip, as Mary Jones, leaning timidly on the arm of John Jenkins, enters the church.
Slowly he ran his eyes down the lines as he read in a half whisper: I was walking down the National pike road toward Cloverdale with little Leigh in the twilight. Where the railroad crosses Clover Creek on the high fill we saw Tank Shirley and the young cashier, Terrence Smalley, who had disappeared after the bank failure.
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