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Updated: June 10, 2025
And then, because all pure, true human love is typical of God's eternal love for his children, then, all suddenly, the twilight scene slipped from me. I was in my father's office on an August day, and Marjie was beside me. The love light in her dear brown eyes, as they looked steadily into mine, was thrilling my soul with joy.
We can almost see the shallows up by the stone cabin below the big cottonwood. The old tree is shapely, isn't it?" We were looking upstream to where the huge old tree stood out against the golden horizon. "Let's buy that land, Phil, and build a house under the big cottonwood some day." "All right, I'm to go out there again soon. Will you go too?" "Of course," Marjie assented, "if you want me to."
Away from the little widower and with Marjie innocent of all the trouble free-spirited, self-dependent Marjie the question of influence did not seem so easy. And yet, she knew Amos Judson well enough to know that he was already far along in fulfilling his plans for the future. For once in her life Mrs.
I want to have a talk with her to-morrow, anyhow. You can't monopolize all her time. I saw Mrs. Whately just now and made an appointment with her for Marjie." When he spoke again, his words startled me. "Phil, when did you see Jean Pahusca last?" "Last night, no, this morning, about one o'clock," I answered confusedly. My father swung around in his chair and stared at me.
When I reached the Whately home, Marjie was waiting for me at the gate. I took her little hand in my own strong big one. "Will you wear it again for me, dearie?" I asked, holding up my mother's ring before her. "Always and always, Phil," she murmured.
Some one entered the room, and with the picture of Marjie still in his eyes, he turned to see Lettie Conlow. She was flashily dressed, and a handsome new fur cape was clasped about her shoulders. Self-possession, the lifetime habit of the lawyer and judge, kept his countenance impassive.
When I became a man I put away childish things. The next day was the Sabbath. I was twenty-one that day. Marjie and I sang in the choir, and most of the solo work fell to us. Dave Mead was our tenor, and Bess Anderson at the organ sang alto. Dave was away that day. His girl sweetheart up on Red Range was in her last illness then, and Dave was at her bedside.
Marjie was the last one in Springvale to be told of my sudden leave-taking. The day had been intolerably long for her, and the evening brought an irresistible temptation to go up to our old playground. Contrary to his daily habit my father had passed the Whately house on his way home, and Marjie had seen him climb the hill. I was as like him in form as Jean Pahusca was like Father Le Claire.
The level rays of golden light fell on us, as we stood there, baptizing us with its splendor. "Oh, Marjie, it was worth all the suffering and danger to have such a home-coming as this!" I kissed her lips and pushed back the little ringlets from her white forehead.
Marjie had not heeded my words "there's a stick partly burned, and these ashes look fresh." She was bending over the big stone hearth. As I started forward, my eye caught a bit of color behind the chair by the table. I stooped to see a purple bow of ribbon, tied butterfly fashion Lettie Conlow's ribbon. I put it in my pocket, determined to find out how it had found its way here. "Ugh!
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