A weird,
dreamy stillness had fallen upon the purple earth, the windless
woods, the rain of the valleys, the sere meadows. Nature seemed
to have folded satisfied hands to rest, knowing that her long,
wintry slumber was coming upon her. Out to sea, a dull, red
sunset faded out into somber clouds, and the ceaseless voice of
many waters came up from the tawny shore.
Robert rested his chin on his hand and looked across the vales
and hills, where the feathery gray of leafless hardwoods was
mingled with the sturdy, unfailing green of the conebearers. He
was a tall, bent man, with thin, gray hair, a lined face, and
deeply-set, gentle brown eyes--the eyes of one who, looking
through pain, sees rapture beyond.
He felt very happy. He loved his family clannishly, and he was
rejoiced that they were all again near to him. He was proud of
their success and fame. He was glad that James had prospered so
well of late years. There was no canker of envy or discontent in
his soul.
He heard absently indistinct voices at the open hall window above
the porch, where Aunt Isabel was talking to Kathleen Bell.
Presently Aunt Isabel moved nearer to the window, and her words
came down to Robert with startling clearness.
"Yes, I can assure you, Miss Bell, that I'm real proud of my
nephews and nieces. They're a smart family. They've almost all
done well, and they hadn't any of them much to begin with.
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