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Updated: June 4, 2025
But it is hard work despising an honest, quiet, just and lovable man. So gradually William was allowed to come home into Green Valley's life. And it was only on this one holiday that he was an outcast. Neither did any one ever remind William's children of what years ago their father had done. But of course they knew. Their father had told them himself. They were in no way cast down.
It was just the minister's plain, common sense that finally got Hank Lolly into the church. When the minister first suggested that Hank ought to attend church services that worthy stared in amazed horror at his new friend. And he gave his perfectly good reasons why the likes of him had no right to step on what was Green Valley's sacred ground. "Hank, you are entirely mistaken.
For forty years and more he has been Green Valley's self-appointed librarian. He draws no salary except the joy of doing what he loves to do and he squanders, as his friends truly suspect, much secret money of his own on it. The library is housed in the old church in a room so small and dark that it hides the big work of this little man.
There was, too, in spite of a shrinking from strangers painfully suggestive of tendencies inherited from generations of persecuted ancestors, a degree of intelligence and self-respect often wanting among peasants far more favorably circumstanced. And it seemed to me worthy of remark that in all our walk notwithstanding the valley's unexampled poverty we did not encounter a single beggar.
Walking along one of the valleys the other evening, while a pretty fresh breeze blew across it, the clouds that were skimming over my head seemed to conform themselves to the valley's shape. At a distance, mountain summits look close together, almost as if forming one mountain, though in reality a village lies in the depths between them.
She strolled up the sidewalk and slowed her steps at Dry Valley's gate, her manner expressing wonder at his unusual delinquency. Then out of his door and down the walk strode not the polychromatic victim of a lost summertime, but the sheepman, rehabilitated.
It was only after exploring a good many of Medford Valley's lesser thoroughfares, after awkward turns in narrow byroads that proved to be mere blind alleys, that they began to come closer and closer to the foot of the hill. Not being able to find a direct path, Oliver finally drew up beside the low stone wall and plunged, on foot, through the high grass of the orchard.
Not that he was a loss to the community, or that they mourned him, but his absence pointed again to the formidable secretive power of the Cañon Country. Tharon Last, standing in her western door, could look across the Valley's deceptive miles and see the huge black seams and fissures that rent the grim face.
Still Tintaggon stood with his feet planted fair upon the valley's edge defending the gods and Their green earth against the sea. And all the while that Slid sang his songs and played with the nautilus that sailed up and down he gathered his oceans together.
Discord will come, and the fierce clang of arms, To scare this valley's long unbroken peace, If we, a feeble shepherd race, shall dare Him to the fight that lords it o'er the world. GERTRUDE. You, too, are men; can wield a battle-axe As well as they. God ne'er deserts the brave. STAUFFACHER. Oh wife! a horrid, ruthless fiend is war, That strikes at once the shepherd and his flock.
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