The Granite monthly : a magazine of literature, history and state progress . earborn made atpretty picture as she gazed wistfullyup the hill. It was the middle ofMay, but spring comes late in themountain land and the valley wasjust beginning to renew its life andbeauty. There was a rose flushunder the girls olive skin, and herbrown eyes shone like stars beneaththe curling hair of darker little foot tapped nervously onthe doorstone and her slender impatiently on the she turned her face towardthe interior. Ma, she called, I want to goup to the Grand Vi
The Granite monthly : a magazine of literature, history and state progress . earborn made atpretty picture as she gazed wistfullyup the hill. It was the middle ofMay, but spring comes late in themountain land and the valley wasjust beginning to renew its life andbeauty. There was a rose flushunder the girls olive skin, and herbrown eyes shone like stars beneaththe curling hair of darker little foot tapped nervously onthe doorstone and her slender impatiently on the she turned her face towardthe interior. Ma, she called, I want to goup to the Grand View to work thissummer. The first reply she received was amasculine grunt indicative of thedeepest disfavor. Then came a shrillfemale voice : Land sakes, what will you wantnext, Kittie Dearborn, I dont you are, well-fed, well-dressed,goin to school, got a beau, aintdenied anythin, spoildest child inthe village everybody says; an yityou want to go to work in a hotelalong of nobody knows who fromBoston and everywheres else that hasto do it to live, poor things! But. that s no reason why you should bemixin up with em and you shaiit,there! O Mother! answered the girlpetulantly. you know there are lotsof good girls working in the want to earn some money of myvery own, and I want to see somepeople besides those in this villageand I want to be where there is somelife. 11 Some life !Did you hearthat, John Hen-ry7 ? The very-same words Fan-ny Bruce said,and she cameback with herhair cut shortand diamonds in her ears and died in three ! To lose my one ewe lamb likethat! There was a heavy rustling of bootsand from the back door her fathercalled: Guess Ill go down to thepost-office, Kittie. Your ma, shesgot a cry in spell. The girl was very gentle and ten-der in soothing her mothers excitednerves and drying the tears thatflowed profusely. But when thethreatened tempest had at last beensuccessfully averted she said calmly :And so I suppose I may go if I geta chan
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookpublisherconco, bookyear1877
