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Updated: July 23, 2025
September set in wet. Leaden skies and steady rain enveloped Heathermuir in a mantle of gray. Marjory, accustomed to all weathers, went out and about as usual. The first wet morning when she signalled to Blanche, the reply was, "Can't come; you come here." So she went down to Braeside and tried to persuade Mrs.
It was Peter's pride that no such lawns could be shown anywhere in or around Heathermuir. There was nothing stiff or formal in this garden, no chessboard patterns or stripes of colour round the borders, but there were lovely masses of luxuriant blooms, radiant colourings, delicious scents, and all in such harmony that the result was a charm which no more regular arrangement could have produced.
She realized how these feelings against her uncle had been gathering force for a long time. Very slowly, very gradually they had grown, to arrive at their full strength as she listened to Mary Ann Smylie's tormenting suggestions. She had grown to hate even the name by which she was known in and about Heathermuir.
He told himself that if he were to stay anywhere in the neighbourhood of Heathermuir he would not be able to keep away from his study for long, so he decided to banish himself to Morristown. Marjory drove her uncle to the station, and was back in plenty of time to prepare for the reception of her guest.
"Well, I want you to make some shortbread for tea." "Shortbread the day?" asked the old woman in surprise; "the morn's no the Sawbath." "I know; but Blanche Forester, my new friend, is coming to tea, and I want her to taste it. You know very well that you make the best shortbread and wear the biggest aprons in Heathermuir. You will make us some, won't you?
It was only in her dealings with her fellows that fear entered, and with her uncle especially. They listened to the church clock at Heathermuir chiming the hours and half-hours. They watched the moon rising, glorious in its fullness, till it flooded their room with light. At last the clock boomed out its twelve echoing strokes. The time had come!
Blanche looked up to her friend as being much stronger in every way than herself, and admired her accordingly, while Marjory would have gone through fire and water, as the saying is, for Blanche. One day, soon after the holidays began, the girls went for a walk to a pond about a mile out of Heathermuir, to see if it would bear for skating.
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