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Updated: June 12, 2025
Derwent had ceased to scold, and poor Bob played his mischievous pranks no more. Both lay quiet in Oldchurch churchyard. Worldly losses, too, had chanced, until the sole survivor of the family found himself very poor. "I should not even have gone to college," said Lyle, "but for the kindness of my brother-in-law, Harold Gwynne." Olive started. "Oh, true I forgot all about that.
There never were such bells as those of Oldchurch! But they melted away in silence; and then the dreamy quietness of the hour stole over Olive's sense. She thought of many things things which might have been sad, but for the slumberous peace that took away all pain.
Poor little Olive, in her warm sympathies, suffered almost as much as the young man's own betrothed, who, after looking doleful for a week, consoled herself by entering, heart and soul, into the gaieties of the gayest Christmas that ever was spent by the society of Oldchurch.
Thus said Olive when they had been established some time in their new abode, and sat together, one winter evening, listening to the sweet bells of Oldchurch one of the few English parishes where lingers "the curfew's solemn sound." "A pretty house, if any one came to see us in it, my dear; but nobody does. And then we miss the close carriage so much.
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