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The Last of the Foresters - Or, Humors on the Border; A story of the Old Virginia Frontier by John Esten Cooke
page 8 of 547 (01%)
grandfathers.

Within, everything was quite as old-fashioned; over the mantel-piece
a portrait, ruffled and powdered, hung; in the corner a huge clock
ticked; by the window stood a japanned cabinet; and more than one
china ornament, in deplorably grotesque taste, spoke of the olden
time.

This is all we can say of the abode of Mr. Adam Summers, better known
as Squire Summers, except that we may add, that Apple Orchard was
situated not very far from Winchester, and thus looked upon the beauty
of that lovely valley which poor Virginia exiles sigh for, often, far
away from it in other lands.

The sun shines for some time upon the well-ordered room, wherein the
breakfast-table is set forth, and in whose wide country fire-place
a handful of twigs dispel with the flame which wraps them the cool
bracing air of morning; then the door opens, and a lady of some thirty
autumns, with long raven curls and severe aspect, enters, sailing
in awful state, and heralded by music, from the rattling keys which
agitate themselves in the basket on her arm, drowning the rustle
of her dress. This is Miss Lavinia, the Squire's cousin, who has
continued to live with him since the death of his wife, some years
since.

The severe lady is superintending the movements of the brisk negro
boy who attends to breakfast, when the Squire himself, a fat, rosy,
good-humored old gentleman, in short breeches and ruffles, makes his
appearance, rubbing his hands and laughing.

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