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Ewell, Martha Lewis Beckwith, 1841-1902

"The Harvest of Years"


"He does not trouble you now, Clara, does he?"
"Not as before, Emily."
"Well, does he at all?"
"I cannot say I feel quite at ease, Emily dear," she replied.
And I said: "It is your beautifully sensitive nature, darling; you
cannot recover the balance once lost, and the tender nerves that have
been shaken are like strings that after a touch continue to vibrate."
"Perhaps so, Emily, but I shall be so glad when the day comes when no
mask of smiles can cover the workings of the heart, so glad; when we can
really know each other."
"Those are Louis' sentiments."
"Oh yes, my dear boy! he has a heart that beats as mine, Emily, and
after many days it shall come to pass that the desires of his heart
shall be gratified."
Something in her tone and manner made me feel strangely; a chill crept
over me, and for a second I felt numb.
It passed away, however, and through the gate of duty I found work, and
left these thoughts.
When March came to us, father insisted that mother should go to Aunt
Phebe's, if we could get along without her--she had a little hacking
cough every spring, and he knew she needed the change. It was decided
that she should go and stay a month, if she could keep away from home so
long. Aunt Hildy said: "Why, Mis' Minot, go right along. Don't you take
one stitch of work with you neither. Go, and let your lungs get full of
different air, and see what that'll do for you. Take along some
everlasting flowers I've got, and make a tea and drink it while you're
there, and let the tea and the air do their work together.


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