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Updated: June 25, 2025
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Ben, "it isn't anywhere near Mr. Beebe's shop. It's ever so far off. And a barn, I guess, 'cause it burns like hay." "I hope there aren't any horses in it," sighed Polly, with a shiver, sitting down on the doorstone, and holding Phronsie very closely in her arms. "Wherever it is, you ought to go and help, Ben," said his mother.
At Roselands, in the late afternoon, Jacqueline came out upon the doorstone and sat there, listening for Selim's hoofs upon the road. The weather was Indian summer, balmy, mild, and blue with haze. On the great ring of grass before the stone yellow beech leaves were lying thick, and the grey limbs of the gigantic, solitary tree rose bare against the blue.
"Don! Don't take it in! They'll come back for it if you don't they're watching somewhere. Put it back on the doorstone don't look at it!" "Why, Sue!" he answered, and for an instant his eyes flashed reproof into hers. "On such a night?" "But what can you do with it?" "Make it comfortable, first." He was unwrapping the bundle.
Joel squirmed all over the little patch of ground before the flat doorstone, and dug the toes of his shoes into the dirt. "Don't do so," cried Polly. "You'll get bigger holes in 'em. Oh, Joel, to think how naughty you are, and Mamsie away!"
"Don't be so angry don't look so black! I am afraid of you. What is it, dearest, dearest?" "Wait," he said harshly. "Wait, Jacqueline, a moment." He put her abruptly from him, walked to the doorstone, and, sitting down, bowed his face upon his hands. For some moments he remained thus, while she stood under the beech tree, her hand upon her heart, watching him.
She thought of the twilights when she had sat on the doorstone, eating huckleberries and milk, and seeing the sun drop down the west; she remembered one night when her little cat came home, after it had been lost, and felt the warm touch of its fur against her hand. She saw how the great chain of things is held by such slender links, and how there is nothing that is not most sacred and most good.
He gazed for a full minute, then spoke to his horse and they went on at speed. A little longer and he was at the gates of home. His wife met him upon the doorstone. "I heard you at the gate " He put his arm around her. "What have you been doing all the long day?" "I worked," she answered, "and saw to the house, and read to Hagar at the quarter. She's going fast. How tired your voice sounds!
The road before our doorstone begins and ends in vague obscurity and Granma Green's house at the fork of the trail stands on the very edge of the world in a sinister region peopled with bears and other menacing creatures. Beyond this point all is darkness and terror.
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