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Updated: May 16, 2025
Treadwell's face grew serious. He recalled his hour of confession in Sandy's study and felt an honest glow of appreciation. "When I was a right little girl," Cynthia went on, "I lived up at Stoneledge with Aunt Ann; she was my real aunt. I had a mighty queer life for a little girl and I reckon I would have fared mighty bad if I hadn't had a secret life!" "You bad child!"
Old Sally Taber had smoothed the problem of Stoneledge for the time being, and there was going to be plenty of money now that Crothers had opened the way for Cynthia to employ her talents! Cynthia tried the bird-note Sandy had conquered so successfully.
A bit too tall and thin was she for grace, but Time would take care of that and, fortunately, Cynthia was many-sided. The dull, monotonous life of Stoneledge had retarded development. Never having mingled with children, she was untested and untried along certain lines.
It was middle August before Marcia Lowe took her courage in her hands and went to see Miss Ann Walden. With city ways still asserting themselves now and again in her thought, she had waited for Miss Walden to call, but, apparently, no such intention was in the mind of the mistress of Stoneledge. "Perhaps after a bit she will write and invite me up there," Marcia Lowe then pondered.
At six o'clock on that May day she awoke in her shabby room of Stoneledge and looked out of the vine-covered window, heard a bird sing a wild, delicious little song, and then sat up with the strange thrill of happiness flooding her heart and soul. It was a warm morning, more like late June than late May, and both the bird and the girl felt the joy in the promise of summer.
"In this bag," Cynthia touched the bag at her waist, "are the letters I wrote to you, Sandy, while you were away. I hid them in an old tree by Stoneledge. The tree kept them safe for me. There are a right many all answers to the one you sent me. Do you want them, Sandy?" "Yes." "Here Sandy!" The letters, more precious than any other gift, lay in his keeping at last. "God bless you, lil' Cyn."
"I can see it same as it was yesterday. That-er Yankee man they called Sheridan he passed up by The Way an' he stopt right on the home-place o' Stoneledge, an' General Walden he was there, an' old Miss, an' lil' Miss Ann she was right little an' young then but mighty peart.
So lonely and homesick was the little doctor that any word of friendliness and good-will drew the tears to her eyes. They talked a little more of Theodore Starr and then the walk to Stoneledge was continued. Marcia Lowe had never seen any of the family except from a distance, and she dreaded, more than she cared to own, the meeting now.
After a decent show of hesitation, Sally decided that she would and, at the close of the afternoon, was seated behind the little doctor with her pitiful store of clothing, jogging in a bundle at her back, on the way to Stoneledge.
The fluttering birds in busy preparation for flight, the carpet of Persian colours and the subtle charm of the smell of wood smoke in the air, all combine to arouse tender thoughts and pensive desires. On such a day Cynthia Walden ran down the trail from Stoneledge and kept to the side of The Way where the leaves were thickest and the damp sweetness the richest.
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