She must have known how anxiously
they would watch for news of her, and certainly she would not be so
heartless as to keep silence all this long time.
Perhaps she had written and the letter failed to reach them. Well,
whatever the trouble was, Tony had long since given up all hope of
hearing from her, but, because of his promise to Martha, he still made
his nightly visit to the post-office in the village. Had it not been for
that promise he would certainly not take that long walk day after day,
in summer heat and winter storms, for hope had long since died in Tony's
heart. At least, so he told himself, but somehow the walk home always
seemed twice as long as the walk down, after hearing those depressing
words "No letter to-night, Tony."
Of late, the daily visit to the village had been almost more than the
old man's failing strength had been able to support. How often he wished
he had not been obliged to sell Lassie. She was the last of his horses
to go; the last, in fact, of all his possessions. There was nothing left
to him now but the old house, and that was in such a state of
dilapidation as to be really unfit for habitation. In the old days, his
dogs and his horses were better housed than he was now; in the old days,
when his farm was one of the most prosperous in that section of the
country. It was lonely indeed since Martha went away, but he was glad
she had not lived to see him brought to this pass.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25