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Updated: June 15, 2025
Good night." "Good night, Champney. Leave your door into the hall wide open; it's so close." She put out her light and sat down by the window. The night was breathless; not a leaf of the elm trees quivered. She heard the Rothel picking its way down the rocky channel of The Gore. She gave herself up to thought, far-reaching both into the past and the future.
Just below him, on the opposite side of the road and the Rothel, which was crossed by a broad bridging of log and plank, stood a long low stone house, to the north of which a double row of firs had been planted for a windbreak. Behind him, on a rise of ground a few rods from the highway, was a large double house of brick with deep granite foundations and white granite window caps.
Champney Googe faced him: they were on the new iron bridge over the Rothel. "You mean to say my mother my mother, Aurora Googe, has been keeping a quarrymen's boarding-house all these years?" "Yes; it is legitimate work." "My mother my mother " he kept repeating as he stood motionless on the bridge.
A sheep dog barked sharply; a hound bayed in answer till the hills north of The Gore gave back a multiple echo; but the Rothel kept its secrets, and with inarticulate murmuring made haste to deposit them in the quiet lake waters. "But, mother " There was an intonation in the protest that hinted at some irritation.
She hurried over to the brick house across the Rothel; rapped at the kitchen door and, upon the girl's opening it, gave the jelly to her with Mrs. Caukins' message. She assured Ellen, who begged her to come in, that she would run over if possible a little later in the evening. A low whine and prolonged snuffing made themselves audible while the two talked together in low tones at the door.
At last, however, she saw him leave the car and cross the bridge over the Rothel. His step was quick and firm. She waved her hand to him; a swing of his cap answered her. Then little Aurora's tiny fist was manipulated by her mother to produce a baby form of welcome. Champney sprang up the steps two at a time, and for a moment the little wife and baby Aurora disappeared in his arms.
"I'll come," she called back in answer. They drove in silence over the Rothel, past the brick house where Emlie's trap was still standing, but now hitched. Octavius Buzzby's face was gray; his features were drawn. "Did you hear, Aileen?" he said, after they had driven on a while and begun to meet the quarrymen returning from Flamsted, many of whom were talking excitedly and gesticulating freely.
On the shelf beneath were ranged some superb specimens of quartz and granite. The plain deal table, also of ample proportions, was piled at one end high with books and pamphlets. Two large windows overlooked the pond, the sloping depression of The Gore, the course of the Rothel, and the headwaters of Lake Mesantic.
Aileen's eyes were blinded to the transient quiet beauty of this scene, for she was alive to but one point in the landscape the red brick house with granite trimmings far away across the Rothel, and the man leaving the carriage which had just stopped at the front porch.
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