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Updated: August 1, 2024
On the porch steps David paused a breathless instant. From the kitchen came the sound of Mrs. Holly's sobs and of a stern voice praying. With a shudder and a little choking cry the boy turned then and crept softly upstairs to his room. He played, too, as Perry Larson had wagered. But it was not the tragedy of the closed bank, nor the honor of the threatened farm-selling that fell from his violin.
Something, either the boy's agitation, or the luckless mention of the gold-pieces sent a sudden dismayed suspicion into Simeon Holly's eyes. "Your 'start'? the 'gold-pieces'? David, what do you mean?" David shook his head. He did not intend to tell.
One Sunday morning I was left at home, in consequence of not being well, with strict injunctions not to get into mischief; while Aunt Henshaw, Cousin Statia, and Sylvia went to church the superintendence of the house being placed in Holly's charge.
Wouldn't you think if a man wrote anything at such a time that he'd 'a' wrote something that had some sense to it something that one could get hold of, and find out who the boy is?" There was no answering this. The assembled men could only grunt and nod in agreement, which, after all, was no real help. The dead man found in Farmer Holly's barn created a decided stir in the village of Hinsdale.
Holly's tact and patience, and some private pleading, to keep a general explosion from wrecking all chances of his staying longer at the farmhouse. Even as it was, David was sorrowfully aware that he was proving to be a great disappointment so soon, and his violin playing that evening carried a moaning plaintiveness that would have been very significant to one who knew David well.
Simeon Holly's face paled a little; still, he knew David had not meant to make it so hard. "Yes." "Why, it's my 'start' just what I was going to have with the gold-pieces," cried David joyously. Then, uttering a sharp cry of consternation, he clapped his fingers to his lips. "Your what?" asked the man. "N nothing, really, Mr. Holly, Uncle Simeon, n nothing."
A night-light was burning, and he could just see Holly's face, with one hand underneath the cheek. An early cockchafer buzzed in the Japanese paper with which they had filled the grate, and one of the horses in the stable stamped restlessly. To sleep like that child! He pressed apart two rungs of the venetian blind and looked out. The moon was rising, blood-red. He had never seen so red a moon.
"B.N.C.," replied Val. "Jolly's at the 'House, but he'll be delighted to look you up." "Thanks awfully." "Holly's in if you could put up with a female relation, she'd show you round. You'll find her in the hall if you go through the curtains. I was just painting her." With another "Thanks, awfully!" Val vanished, leaving the two cousins with the ice unbroken.
In his mountain home everything the house afforded in the way of food had always been freely given to the few strangers that found their way to the cabin door. So now David had no hesitation in going to Mrs. Holly's pantry for supplies, upon the occasion of his next visit to Joe Glaspell's. Mrs.
Why any woman in her senses wanted to live among those early-Victorian horrors, the women of Santa Paloma could not imagine. But Mrs. Burgoyne never apologized for the old walnut chairs and tables, and the old velvet carpets, and the hopelessly old-fashioned white lace curtains and gilt-framed mirrors. Even Captain Holly's big clock "an impossibly hideous thing," Mrs.
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