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Updated: June 23, 2025
Thorold's manliness, and feeling very much pleased that he had shown it and papa had discerned it so readily. The silence lasted till I began to be curious. "What shall we do now, Daisy?" papa said at last. I left him to answer his own question. "Hey? What do you wish me to do?" "Papa, I hope you will give him a kind answer." "How can I get it to him?"
Consequently, Mr. Thorold's lecture was very proper and grave, instead of being full of fun and amusement, as well as instruction. I took Preston to task about it when we got home. "You hinder pleasure when you go in that mood," I told him. "What mood?" "You know. You never are pleasant when Mr. Thorold is present or when he is mentioned." "He is a cowardly Yankee!" was Preston's rejoinder.
"He is one of Thorold's set," said Preston; "and I tell you Daisy, you shall not have anything to do with them. Aunt Felicia would never allow it. She would not look at them herself. You shall not have anything more to do with them." How could I, if I was going no more to the hops? How could I see Thorold, or anybody? The thought struck to my heart, and I made no answer.
Judge Adams said it one night to Abraham Lincoln." "Father!" Peter's eyes flashed back from the cortège to meet James Thorold's. "I never knew that you knew Abraham Lincoln." His tone betokened an impression of having been cheated of some joy the older man had been hoarding. But James Thorold's voice held no joy. "Yes," he said. "I knew him."
His eyes, dilated with horror at the realization of the older man's admission, fixed their gaze accusingly on James Thorold. "You weren't a a deserter?" He breathed the word fearfully. "I was a bounty-jumper." "Oh!" Peter Thorold's shoulders drooped as if under the force of a vital blow. Vaguely as he knew the term, the boy knew only too well the burden of disgrace that it carried.
My tears stopped; and I believe one or two smiles could not be checked as I remembered some look or word of Mr. Thorold's. I was to see him the next evening; and it would behove me to lose no time in telling him all the various matters I had wished him to understand. It seemed to me there was something to reconsider in my proposed communications.
It held besides an inflexibility of tone that James Thorold's lacked. Its timbre told that Peter Thorold's spirit had been tempered in a furnace fierier than the one which had given forth the older man's. The voice rang out now in excited pleasure as the boy gripped his father's shoulders. "Oh, but it's good to see you again, dad," he cried. "You're a great old boy, and I'm proud of you, sir.
It was indeed, and though my companion put his own concerns in the background very politely, I would be hurried. We ran down the hill, Mr. Thorold's hand helping me over the rough way and securing me from stumbling. In very few minutes we were again at the gate and entered upon the post limits. And there were the band, in dark column, just coming up from below the hill.
"On the contrary," said Thorold, "I was always of a very contented disposition." "Contented with your own will, then," said his aunt. "And now, do you mean to tell me that you have got this prize this prize it's a first class, Christian for good and for certain to yourself?" I lifted my eyes one instant, to see the sparkles in Thorold's eyes; they were worth seeing.
I cannot tell what was in my look; I know what was in my heart; the surprised inquiry and the yearning wish. Thorold's face flushed. He met my eyes with an intense recognition and inquiry in his own, and then, I am almost sure, his were dim. He set my chair for me at the table, and took hold of me and put me in it with a very gentle touch that seemed to thank me.
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