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Updated: June 7, 2025
Never had Lans Treadwell been so dramatic nor such a fool, but he had caught little Cyn, and before she realized what had happened or why she had permitted it to happen, she drove away with Treadwell over the hills one day to see some land Crothers had urged him to look at and, a storm overtaking them, they were delayed in an old cabin where they sought shelter over night and then and there Lans brought her to see that for all their sakes they should be married before going home.
I see how it is, you have been with the sophists; accursed race! who would deny us all concern in human affairs. Yes, these are just the points they raise, impiously seeking to pervert mankind from the way of sacrifice and prayer: it is all thrown away, forsooth! the Gods take no thought for mankind; they have no power on the earth. Ah well; they will be sorry for it some day. Cyn.
"Cyn," she commanded, "get Ivy where is Ivy? Tell her to make up a bed for Sally in the loft over the kitchen." And then again she laughed that meaningless laugh. Life in the Morley cabin was tense and dangerously vital.
"Lansing Treadwell, swear to me, that you will leave her soul to her own keeping until " Treadwell gave him a long, steady look. "I swear!" he said. "When her hour comes to understand and choose let her be white and pure as she is now!" "I swear it, Sandy Morley." "Then," and now Sandy's eyes dimmed, "good-bye, little Cyn.
But you seem to think that people sacrifice to us from ulterior motives; that they are driving a bargain with us, buying blessings, as it were: not at all; it is a disinterested testimony to our superior merit. Cyn. There you are, then. As you say, sacrifice answers no useful purpose; it is just our good-natured way of acknowledging your superiority.
But this eternity is an eternity of happiness; the life of Gods is one round of blessings. Cyn. Not all Gods' lives. Even in Heaven there are distinctions, not to say mismanagement. You are happy, of course: you are king, and you can haul up earth and sea as it were a bucket from the well. But look at Hephaestus: a cripple; a common blacksmith. Look at Prometheus: he gets nailed up on Caucasus.
If not a king himself, at least he goes magnificently to settle the affairs of kings. Were modesty not my failing, Mistress Cyn, I would acclaim you as strangely lucky, in being beloved by two fine fellows that have not their like in England." "Truly, you are not always thus modest, Kit Marlowe " "But, Lord, how seriously Pevensey takes it all! and takes himself in particular!
"It was here," murmured she, standing behind a tall tree by the road, "that you fled from Crothers the night of the fire. Poor little Cyn!" That was it! The child, Cynthia, walked beside the woman, Cynthia, now, and the woman with clear, awakened eyes understood at last! "Poor little Cyn! How frightened you were and how bravely you fought for me! Or was it I who fought for you?
Just as Cynthia reached The Way, she met Martin Morley. "Good morning, lil' Miss Cyn," he greeted; "seems like you be part of this yere pretty day." "Good morning, Mr. Morley. You look right smart and dandified." Morley was neatly and decently attired and his calm, clear eyes were steady and full of purpose.
New York-Mrs. John Winters Brannan, Miss Belle Sheinberg, Mrs. L. H. Hornsby, Mrs. Paula Jakobi, Mrs. Cyn- thia Cohen, Miss M. Tilden Burritt, Miss Dorothy Day, Mrs. Henry Butterworth, Miss Cora Week, Mrs. P. B. Johns, Miss Elizabeth Hamilton, Mrs. Ella O. Guilford, New York City; Miss Amy Juengling, Miss Hattie Kruger, Buffalo. Second Group Massachusetts-Mrs. Agnes H. Morey, Brookline; Mrs.
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