Winter Evening Tales by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr
page 59 of 256 (23%)
page 59 of 256 (23%)
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family consultation soon showed that this was impossible without
hopelessly straitening both houses. Everyone knows that dreary silence which follows a long discussion, that has only confirmed the fear of an irremediable misfortune. Davie broke it in this case in a very unexpected manner. "Let me go in your place, Sandy. I'd like to do it, my lad. Maybe I'd find your uncle. Who knows? What do you say, old wife? We've had more than twenty years together. It is pretty hard for Sandy and Sallie, now, isn't it?" He spoke with a bright face and in a cheerful voice, as if he really was asking a favor for himself; and, though he did not try to put his offer into fine, heroic words, nothing could have been finer or more heroic than the perfect self-abnegation of his manner. The poor old wife shed a few bitter tears; but she also had been practicing self-denial for a lifetime, and the end of it was that Davie went to weary marches and lonely watches, and Sandy staid at home. This was the break-up of Davie's life. His wife went to live with Sandy and Sallie, and the furniture was mostly sold. Few people could have taken these events as Davie did. He even affected to be rather smitten with the military fever, and, when the parting came, left wife and son and home with a cheerful bravery that was sad enough to the one old heart who had counted its cost. In Davie's loving, simple nature there was doubtless a strong vein of romance. He was really in hopes that he might come across his long-lost |
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