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Updated: June 15, 2025
Suppose, years and years from now, after you've finished at college, and Bob Endress has got through college, too, you should come here to see Miss Trigg, and he should come here, too, and you should meet right here walking in this path. "Wouldn't that be just like a storybook?" "Nonsense, Jen!" exclaimed Nancy, laughing. But sometimes, after all, the story books are like real life.
A wandering princess and a good monster in a storybook might have sat by the fireside, and talked as Captain Cuttle and poor Florence talked and not have looked very much unlike them. The Captain was not troubled with the faintest idea of any difficulty in retaining Florence, or of any responsibility thereby incurred.
Even the soldier-crab must have some likeness to the snail of whose house he takes possession, else he could not live in it at all. The first thing to be done by one who would read a room is, to clear it as soon as possible of the air of the marvellous, the air of the storybook, which pervades every place at the first sight of it.
But as my little conductress, with her hair of gold and her frock of blue, danced before me round corners and pattered down passages, I had the view of a castle of romance inhabited by a rosy sprite, such a place as would somehow, for diversion of the young idea, take all color out of storybooks and fairytales. Wasn't it just a storybook over which I had fallen adoze and adream?
There was an old-fashioned garden on one side, with a running flame of hollyhocks hemming it in; the background was a dark green oak and maple grove; and in a clover meadow beyond the garden was a colony of beehives. It looked an ideal, storybook place, and I wished it might be the Valley Farm, but thought such a thing too good to be true.
"You're just like a mother in a storybook; the kind you always want when you read about them," Haldane often told her. "You know, I never had one one that I remember; mine died so long ago." "And you you're quite my son," she would answer shyly, her voice trembling with the joy of it.
The egg, indeed, might have been mistaken for one of those which the famous goose in the storybook was in the habit of laying; but King Midas was the only goose that had had anything to do with the matter. "Well, this is a quandary!" thought he, leaning back in his chair and looking quite enviously at little Marygold, who was now eating her bread and milk with great satisfaction.
They moved slowly, in unison, below us, over the lawn, the boy, as they went, reading aloud from a storybook and passing his arm round his sister to keep her quite in touch. Mrs. Grose watched them with positive placidity; then I caught the suppressed intellectual creak with which she conscientiously turned to take from me a view of the back of the tapestry.
He is only coming as any old friend might." Anne had her own opinion about that as she hastened into the house to write a note at Miss Lavendar's desk. "Oh, it's delightful to be living in a storybook," she thought gaily. "It will come out all right of course . . . it must . . . and Paul will have a mother after his own heart and everybody will be happy. But Mr.
Indeed, that such a June-like creature should come to them that wintry day that she had crossed the terrible ocean from a foreign realm far more remote, in the child's consciousness, than fairy-land seemed quite as strange as if Cinderella had stepped out of the storybook with the avowed purpose of remaining with them until her lost slipper was found.
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