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Updated: May 19, 2025
"We are two little Confederates! That's who we are," said Willy. "Is any of your parents ever ever been in a asylum?" he asked, as calmly as he could. "That's none of your business," said Captain Frank. "March on!" The man cast a despairing glance toward the house, where "The years" were "creeping slowly by, Lorena," in a very high pitch, and then moved on.
They flew down the bank to a green bower which had been their playhouse ever since their arrival, and soon were amicably engaged in a charming drama, in which Lenora was Miss Cameron, and Lorena Dr. Allen, who, mounted upon a barrel-hoop, dashed gallantly up to the door to take the young lady for a drive. Meantime, Tim was still hurrying up the ravine, fired with a new purpose.
They went into the best room, where a fire was blazing, and Mattie and Herman sang hymns and old-fashioned love songs and college glees wonderfully intermingled. They ended by singing "Lorena," a wailing, supersentimental love song current in war times, and when they looked around there was a lofty look on the face of the young preacher a look of exaltation, of consecration and resolve.
She, in turn, loved and confided in her father, the shy, bent, shrunken little man with the smile. "He always smiles as if he'd hurt himself and didn't want to show it before company," were the words in which she announced one of her early discoveries about him. But she liked and ruled him, and came to him for comfort when she was hurt or when Lorena scolded.
A boy'll need so many things." "Girls don't need anything much, I suppose oh, no!" He touched her cheek with gentle fingers. "It's not going to be a girl." "How d'you know?" "I know." So went their talk, over and over, an endless garland of happy conjectures, plans, air castles. Cousin Lorena sent little patterns and thin scraps of material, tiny laces, blue ribbons.
"As I went down to Coffey's mills Some pleasure for to see, I fell in love with a railroad-er, He fell in love with me." The stolid Christina listened entranced to all of Lorena's songs, charmed by the melody not less than she was awed by her sister-wife's superior gifts of language. The husband, too, listened not without resignation, reflecting that, when Lorena did not sing, she talked.
"I was at Malvern Hill, and I ain't never going there again I ain't never going there again I ain't never.... Who's that singing? I kin sing, too 'The years creep slowly by, Lorena; The snow is on the grass again; The sun's low down the sky, Lorena; The frost gleams where the flowers have been " "Don't mind him," said the soldiers on elbows. "Poor fellow! he ain't got any voice anyhow.
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