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Updated: June 7, 2025
A moment later Cynthia, regaining courage, crept close to the glass and tapped again. This time Sandy strode to the door, flung it wide and, standing in the panel of warmth and light with uplifted head, said sternly: "Who is there? What is wanted?" Who he expected he hardly knew himself, but the answer he received caused him to reel backward. "It's it's lil' Cyn, Sandy, and she wants you!"
Don't you hear Aunt Ann?" "You promised, little Cyn!" whined Miss Walden, "you promised!" "I know all about it!" Cynthia murmured, still keeping her fear-filled eyes upon the caller "I, too, want you to go away!" Her training had fitted Marcia Lowe to understand and take alarm at what she beheld, but it also demanded that she leave at once.
And by the way talking of thunder-bolts there is one thing I will ask you and Destiny to explain; you can answer for her. Is this one of the things it is not proper for me to know? Zeus. It is, Cyniscus. You are a meddlesome fellow; I don't know where you picked up all these ideas. Cyn.
She wore her own, old cloak and the red hood that Marcia Lowe's loving fingers had knitted for her. Sandy must not be disappointed in her; it must be little Cyn, not the Cynthia Lans Treadwell had claimed, who was to put forth her appeal for help. The crisp, starry night was still and fine; the walk from Trouble Neck to Sandy's cabin brought the blood to the pale cheeks, light to the large eyes.
"Then kiss, little Cyn, and God bless you." On her way home Marcia Lowe stopped at the church to rest and "talk it over with Uncle Theodore." The golden winter sunset streamed through the window and lay bright and fair like a shining way up to the altar. Marcia walked the brilliant strip and sat down in the minister's pew.
This was particularly blinding to Marcia Lowe. "Brother and sister in the broad human sense," pleaded Lans, and so the net drew close around little Cyn, and she did not struggle, because the mesh was so open and free that it did not chafe the delicate nature nor stunt the yet blind soul. At the end of the third week Crothers, in fatherly manner, suggested to Lans that he was compromising Cynthia.
If some one gave the spindle a turn in the wrong direction, and undid all Clotho's work, Atropus would have something to say on the subject. Zeus. So! You would deprive even the Fates of honour? You seem determined to reduce all to one level. Well, we Gods have at least one claim on you: we do prophesy and foretell what the Fates haye disposed. Cyn.
But there is one thing I should like, which would cost you no trouble to grant. Zeus. Well, Cyniscus? You shall not be disappointed, if your expectations are as reasonable as you say. Cyn. I want to ask you a plain question. Zeus. Such a modest petition is soon granted; ask what you will. Cyn. Well then: you know your Homer and Hesiod, of course?
She did not know, perhaps Sandy did not understand, but once he had said to her during a flight of fancy: "Some day I'm going to gather them-all away from old Smith Crothers and save them!" "Come and see for yourself, little Miss Cyn." The tone was friendly and kind, and the actual necessity of the future gripped Cynthia. "Come and see.
It was as if Treadwell were hurting little Cyn as she sat in her window-seat with her dear face turned toward them. "Come, sit down, Lans. You are as nervous as a ghost-candle." "Thanks!" Treadwell took a chair across the hearth from his host. "There's a devil of a storm rising out of doors." "They're right common this season of the year.
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