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Updated: June 21, 2025
Your Uncle Roger says it's because there ain't enough old maids in Carlisle. There's lots of them in Markdale, and that's the reason, he says, why they always have such good clover crops there." "What on earth have old maids to do with it?" cried Cecily. "I don't believe they've a single thing to do with it, but Mr. Roger says they have, and he says a man called Darwin proved it.
The Franklin Dexter went ashore on the Markdale Capes and all on board perished, the Captain and three of his brothers among them. These four young men were the sons of an old man who lived in Portland, Maine, and when he heard what had happened he came right down to the Island to see if he could find their bodies.
The next day the Story Girl coaxed Uncle Roger to take her to Markdale, and there she bought our dream books. They were ten cents apiece, with ruled pages and mottled green covers. My own lies open beside me as I write, its yellowed pages inscribed with the visions that haunted my childish slumbers on those nights of long ago.
"'Dream of the dead, you'll hear of the living," quoted Felix oracularly. "I dreamed last night that I threw a lighted match into that keg of gunpowder in Mr. Cook's store at Markdale," said Peter. "It blew up and everything blew up and they fished me out of the mess but I woke up before I'd time to find out if I was killed or not."
I'll miss you just dreadful, and I won't even be able to go to the same school. I'll have to go to Markdale school." "But you must come and see us often," said Felicity graciously. "Markdale isn't so far away, and you could spend every other Saturday afternoon with us anyway." Peter's black eyes filled with adoring gratitude. "That's so kind of you, Felicity.
I saw him at the Markdale picnic two years ago. He's very fat and bald and red-faced, but I've seen far worse looking men." "I'm afraid your seat is too near the stove, Aunt Eliza," shouted Felicity. Our guest, whose face was certainly very much flushed, shook her head. "Oh, no, I'm very comfortable," she said. But her voice had the effect of making us uncomfortable.
We all looked out to see a tall, gray-haired lady approaching the house, looking about her with the slightly puzzled air of a stranger. We had been expecting Great-aunt Eliza's advent for some weeks, for she was visiting relatives in Markdale.
Aunt Janet and Uncle Alec had gone to the Markdale service and had not yet returned. Felicity and Cecily were wearing their new summer muslins for the first time and were acutely conscious of the fact.
He looks just like the picture of St. John my father sent me, only he is old and his hair is white. I know you'd like him. And even if you are going to be a Methodist it won't hurt you to go to the Presbyterian church. The nearest Methodist church is six miles away, at Markdale, and you can't attend there just now. Go to the Presbyterian church until you're old enough to have a horse."
It was a clear amber-tinted September evening and far away, over Markdale Harbour, a great round red moon was rising as we waited. Uncle Blair was hidden behind the wind-blown tassels of the pines at the gate, but he and the Story Girl kept waving their hands at each other and calling out gay, mirthful jests. "Do you really feel acquainted with your father?" whispered Sara Ray wonderingly.
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