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Updated: June 13, 2025
I had been told how Aunt Cornie More had made her own shroud from her crocheted parlour curtains, lest these fall to a later wife of her octogenarian husband; and how as she lay in her coffin the curtain's shell-stitch parrot "come right acrost her chest." This woman beside me had called her "Aunt" Cornie More.
"Heaven forbid," said I, somewhat brokenly, for the welcome sight of his face and the sound of his voice aroused emotions which even now I do not care to analyse. "It was generous of you to come up." He coloured. "Rot!" said he, in his breezy way. "Hallo! The curtain's going up. What's the next item? Oh, those fool dogs!" "I adore performing dogs!" said Agatha, looking toward the stage.
It is the currents of life, not their wills, that bear old acquaintances asunder." He seemed pleased with her sentiments and was about to say something, but she added: "The curtain's going up. Hadn't you better go down to your friend? She's been looking up at us impatiently." "Oh, no, don't bother about her." said Leonard, reddening a little. "She she won't mind.
I know I am quite mad, but it's fine while it lasts. Now, Jack, the curtain's up. Let the play proceed." The story was simple enough. Immediately after the discovery of the mine French had arranged with Mr. Robert Menzies that he should make application with the Department of the Interior at Ottawa for the necessary mining rights.
It had horse-sheds on one side, stretching back to the rear of the church lot, and some sizeable elms and maples were grouped about its front and sides. It was a one-room structure, unless you counted the space curtained off for the primary class, as J.W. always did. For back of this curtain's protecting folds he had begun his career as a Sunday school pupil and had made his first friends.
The white-washed wall, the glare of the raw gas, the low monotonous voice of the reading-boy, like one studying a part, or perhaps like the murmur of the distant audience; the boy coming in asking for "copy" or proof, like the call-boy, with his "Curtain's going up, gentlemen."
"I'll read to you, Susan Jane; and the storm's passing. I can count now." "How many? How many, Janet?" A blinding flash showed around the green curtain's edge and dimmed the light of the kerosene lamp. "One two." The awful crash stilled the word. "'T ain't fur enough off, Janet, to trust any! Oh! God help me! If I could only put my hands over my ears!"
What was more almost than the expectation of his collapse was the fact that his looks and manner, his whole bearing, so eloquent of the agony and agitation of his mind, was beginning to tell upon my nerves. A catastrophe of some sort I foresaw. Of the curtain's fall upon one tragedy we had just been witnesses. That there was worse much worse, to follow I did not doubt.
And all about it played shifting, tremulous shadows formed by the merging of the golden light with the curtain's emerald gleaming. Up to its base swept the cube that bore Ruth and Norhala and stopped. From it leaped the woman, and drew Ruth down beside her, then turned and gestured toward us. That upon which we rode drew close.
It was lucky that this signaled the curtain's fall on the first act, or Jess Morse would have spoiled her own good work by the expression of her amazement. "Who is it?" "Can it be Margit Salgo?" "How very, very wonderful!" These were some of the ejaculations of the girls behind the scenes.
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