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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

"And now tell me what sort
of a place it is and where daddy and I are going to live, and all
about it."
And then, to soften the disappointment the more and to keep a new
bubble afloat, Jack launched out into a description of the country
and how beautiful the view was from the edge of the hill
overlooking the valley, with the big oaks crowning the top and the
lichen-covered rocks and fallen timber blanketed with green moss,
and the spring of water that gushed out of the ground and ran
laughing down the hillside, and the sweep of mountains losing
themselves in the blue haze of the distance, and then finally to
the log-cabin he was going to build for his own especial use.
"And only two miles away," she cried in a joyous tone,--"and I can
ride out every day! Oh, Jack!--just think of it!" And so, with
the breath of this new enthusiasm filling their souls, a new
bubble of hope and gladness was floated, and again the two fell to
planning, and "supposing," the rose-glow once more lightening up
the peaks.
For days nothing else was talked of.


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