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Updated: May 3, 2025
She watched Margaret Howes and Elinor till they turned into the screened entrance to the portrait room; then she turned to Patricia with easy friendliness. "You're fresh meat, aren't you?" she asked with a grin that widened her full mouth to a line. "When'd you come?" Patricia gave her the brief outlines of her enrolment, and she nodded approvingly.
However, his trust in his Aunt Thankful was absolute and if she said a fat man could get through a stovepipe he probably could. But the performance promised to be an interesting one. Georgie wished he might see it. He thought a great deal about it and, little by little, a plan began forming in his mind. Three days before Christmas Emily Howes arrived at the High Cliff House.
She turned to the subject of Margaret Howes with eager interest, asking all sorts of questions as to her progress in painting and her appearance and her life of the past year, to none of which Bruce would answer a word, even though urged by Elinor. "Wait and find out for yourselves," he said teasingly. "It would take off the bloom if I recounted all."
Or, worse than all, suppose that after she was dead Martin Howe was to buy it in. The Howes had always wanted more land. Imagine Martin Howe plowing up the rich loam of her fields, invading with his axe the dim silences of her wood lot, enjoying the fruit of her orchard, driving his herds into her pasture! Fancy his feet grating upon the threshold of her home, his tread vibrating on her stairways!
At last we came so near the point of land at the entering in of Loch Leven that I begged to be set on shore. This was a wood of birches, growing on a steep, craggy side of a mountain that overhung the loch. It had many openings and ferny howes; and a road or bridle-track ran north and south through the midst of it, by the edge of which, where was a spring, I sat down to eat some oat-bread of Mr.
Adamantine as was the lichen-covered heap of granite, it was of far more mutable a quality than were the dispositions of those who had so stubbornly let it fall into decay. Time's hand had softened the harsh stone into mellow beauty; but the flintlike characters of the Howes and Websters remained uncompromising as of yore.
I'm really getting awfully drowsy, now it's so quiet," she confessed. Elinor was already half asleep when Patricia suddenly sat up with a mirthful gurgle. "What fun it'll be to tell the gang at the Academy," she crowed. "Won't Griffin rejoice and won't Doris Leighton wish she'd been good! Margaret Howes will have a chance to meet Bruce, too. It'll be a perfect lark all around!"
You think I ought to let him set, I suppose, Miss Howes?" "Why, yes, if he doesn't annoy you too much. We must keep him contented. You must sacrifice your own feelings to help Aunt Thankful. You would be willing to make some sacrifice for her, wouldn't you?" "You bet your life I would! She's the best woman on earth, Mrs. Barnes is.
One cannot but wonder what part the old friendship played in this "softening." Relations with the Howes began badly by a letter from Lord Howe addressed "George Washington, Esq.," which Washington declined to receive as not recognizing his official position. A second one to "George Washington, Esq. &c. &c. &c." met with the same fate, and brought the British officer "to change my superscription."
Bridge's generosity had come back to him, dried and salted, as it has to many another. What could Bridge do, in the premises? Goodrich had written to Hawthorne that the publisher, Mr. Howes, was confident of making a favorable arrangement with a man of capital who would edit the book; but Bridge did not know this, and he suspected Goodrich of sailing into Hawthorne's favor under a false flag.
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