Andrew Bolton was, always dressed in silk of an
afternoon and driving out with a two-horse team, an' keeping two
hired girls constant, besides a man to work in her flower garden and
another for the barn. But of course she supposed they were really
rich and could afford it. _He_ never let on to _her_, after things
begun to go to pieces; and folks blamed her for it, afterwards. Her
heart was weak, and he knew it, all along. And then I suppose he
thought mebbe things would take a turn.... Yes; the paper in this
room was white with little wreaths of pink roses tied up with blue
ribbons all over it. 'Twas furnished up real pretty with white
furniture, and there was ruffled muslin curtains with dots on 'em at
the windows and over the bed; Mrs. Andrew Bolton certainly did fix
things up pretty, and to think you're going to have it just the same
way. Well, I will say you couldn't do any better.... But, land! if
there isn't the sun going down behind the hill, and me way out here,
with Henry's supper to get, and Dolly champing his bit impatient.
There's one lucky thing, though; he'll travel good, going towards
home; he won't stop to get his tail over the lines, neither."
An hour later, when the long summer twilight was deepening into
gloom, Jim Dodge crossed the empty library and paused at the open
door of the room beyond. The somber light from the two tall windows
fell upon the figure of the girl. She was sitting before Andrew
Bolton's desk, her head upon her folded arms.
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