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Updated: June 25, 2025
Then she moved a little farther down the slope and stood watching the ferry which, by this time, was moving out from the farther side. He recognized the figure. It was that of the gaunt woman who crossed with him earlier in the night. The ferry was drawing out from the Windomville side when a faint shout came from down the river. Burk answered the call, which was repeated.
Courtney Thane's fame had preceded him to Windomville. By this time, the entire district had heard of the man who was gassed, and who had actually won two or three medals for bravery in the Great War. The young men from that section of the state who had seen fighting in France were still in New York City, looking for jobs. Most of them had "joined up" at the first call for volunteers.
But now, by some strange wizardry, the tranquil setting had been transformed into a vibrant, exquisite fairyland, throbbing with life, charged with an appeal to every one of the senses. It was as if some hand had shaken it out of a sound sleep. But, for that matter, the whole village of Windomville had undergone a change. It was no longer the dull, sleepy place of yesterday.
To this day, the older inhabitants of Windomville will tell you about the way his widow "took on" until she couldn't stand it any longer, and then married George Hooper, the butcher, four months after the shocking demise of Joseph. Dowd's Tavern had few transient guests. "Drummers" from the city hard-by dropped in occasionally for a midday meal, but they never stayed the night.
Vick," said Annie, and felt a little chill creeping over her. "Still she may have gone to Mrs. Urline's. She and Hattie are good friends. Shall I call up and ask? I'll ring you up in a couple of minutes." That was the beginning. Within the hour the whole of Windomville was talking about the strange disappearance of the pretty daughter of Amos Vick, across the river.
Pollock, if you'll promise to chloroform Charlie Webster," said he, and Charlie promptly declared he would do the chloroforming himself. The meetings of the Literary Society were held once a month in the Windomville schoolhouse, a two story brick building situated some distance back from the main street at the upper edge of the town.
The village of Windomville lay below, hugging the river, a relic of the days when steamboats plied up and down the stream and railways were remote, a sleepy, insignificant, intensely rural hamlet of less than six hundred inhabitants. Its one claim to distinction was the venerable but still active ferry that laboured back and forth across the river.
Guilt denied Maude Baggs Pollock the right to claim authorship of these imperishable lines, and to this day they remain unidentified in the archives of the Windomville Public Library, displayed upon request by Alaska Spigg, their proud and unselfish donor. Courtney read two of his letters. The third he consigned, unopened, to the fireplace at Dowd's Tavern.
Remember me saying I had a small stock hid away up in my room? What say to going up, now that the coast is clear, and having a nip or two?" "No, thanks, old man. I don't drink. Doctor's orders. Besides, I've got some letters to write. I'll walk home with you if you're ready to go." Mr. Webster shook his head sadly. "That's the one drawback to livin' in Windomville," he said.
He was determined that the day should not be a total loss; he would turn at least a portion of it to profit. First of all, he visited Alaska Spigg at the log-hut village library. Miss Spigg was very proud of her geraniums. No one else in Windomville, or in the world, for that matter, if one were to recall Mr.
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