By Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin
Kate Douglas Wiggin used to be one of many past due nineteenth century's hottest authors of youngsters books, and her vintage Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm remains to be greatly learn today.
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Extra info for A Village Stradivarius
Anthony goes to see Miss Butterfield consid'able often. Of course it's awstensibly to walk home with Davy, or do an errand or something, but everybody knows better. She went down to Croft's pretty nearly every day when his cousin Maria from Bridgton come to house-clean. Maria suspicioned something, I guess. Anyhow, she asked me if Miss Butterfield's two hundred a year was in gov'ment bonds. Anthony's eyesight ain't good, but I guess he could make out to cut cowpons off . . It would be strange if them two left-overs should take an' marry each other; though, come to think of it, I don't know's 't would neither.
She paused in front of the house, but there were no turkeys to be seen. Could they have wandered up the hill road— the discontented, "traipsing," exasperating things? She started in that direction, when she heard a crash in the Croft kitchen, and then the sound of a boy's voice coming from an inner room— a weak and querulous voice, as if the child were ill. She drew nearer, in spite of her dread of meeting people, or above all of intruding, and saw Anthony Croft standing over the stove, with an expression of utter helplessness on his usually placid face.
Lyddy went home at seven o'clock that night rather reluctantly. The doctor had said Mr. Croft could sit up with the boy unless he grew much worse, and there was no propriety in her staying longer unless there was danger. " They stood together on the doorstep. A distant bell called to evening prayer-meeting; the restless murmur of the river and the whisper of the wind in the pines broke the twilight stillness. The long, quiet day together, part of it spent by the sick child's bedside, had brought the two strangers curiously near to each other.