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Updated: May 15, 2025
Now, Martha, while you are sewing, I will read you the news." The card which had been handed to the cooper contained the name of Thomas Merriam, No. Pearl Street. Punctually at twelve, he presented himself at the countingroom, and received a cordial welcome from the merchant. "I am glad to see you," he said, affably.
Roger Armstrong dashed into the little countingroom. Faith lay there, on the floor. At that fearful crash, that rush of suffocating smoke, she had fallen, senseless. He seized her, frantically, in his arms to bear her down. "Faith! Faith!" he cried, when she neither spoke nor moved. "My darling! Are you hurt? Are you killed? Oh, my God! must there be another?"
Fragments of news came to him quoted and re-quoted, grotesquely exaggerated and even malicious reports of the tragedy at the Dunsacks'. Standing at his high desk in the countingroom of the Mongolian Marine Insurance Company, Taou Yuen's glittering passage through Salem already seemed to him a fable, a dream.
She opened the double doors from the countingroom, and stood on the outer threshold, and looked into the mill. The heavy looms were still. They stood like great, dead creatures, smitten in the midst of busy motion.
His eyes flashed wide upon that crimson glare that flooded sky and field and river. There was fire at the mills! Not a sound, yet, from the sleeping village. The heavy, close-fitting double doors between the countingroom and the great mill chamber were shut. Only by opening these and venturing forth, could Faith gain certain knowledge of her situation.
Above in the quiet little countingroom, shut off by double doors at the right from the great loom chamber of the mill, and opening at the front by a wide window upon the river that ran tumbling and flashing below, spanned by the graceful little bridge that reached the green slope of the field beyond it was so cool and pleasant so still with continuous and softened sound that Faith sat down upon the comfortable sofa there, to rest, to think, to be alone, a little.
Armstrong went back to the mills again, with horse and chaise. Glory shut the bedroom door. "Why, you are all wet, and draggled, and smoked!" said she, taking off Faith's outer, borrowed garments. "What has happened to you and how came you there, Miss Faith?" "I fell asleep in the countingroom, last evening, and got locked in. I was coming home. I can't tell you now, Glory.
Cicely could remember when the big countingroom had been crowded with clerks and had hummed like a beehive with the myriad activities of the Hallowell trade. It was a dull and empty place now, and the fleet of Hallowell ships was scattered, some lying at anchor, some dismantled and sold, some fallen into the hands of the enemy.
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