File:St. Nicholas (serial) (1873) (14783895453).jpg

Identifier: stnicholasserial192dodg (find matches)
Title: St. Nicholas (serial)
Year: 1873 (1870s)
Authors: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Subjects: Children's literature
Publisher: (New York : Scribner & Co.)
Contributing Library: Information and Library Science Library, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
Digitizing Sponsor: University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

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d, Eastern home had gaineda priceless value, as things of a past gone outof her life, which she had scarcely prized at thetime. She was half jealous of her childrensattachment to the West, and longed to makethem know the place of the familys nativitythrough such pictures of it as her memory couldsupply. But her words meant more to herself than toany that listened. Did we ever sleep in that bedroom withthe chimney-swallows ? asked Jack. He wasthinking: what a mistake to stop up the chim-ney and cut off communication with such jollyneighbors as the swallows ! 656 THE SPARE BEDROOM AT GRANDFATHER S. 657 Yes, his mother said ; he had slept there, but and beyond them were the solemn blue hills, before he could remember. It was the winter Those hills, and the cedars, were as much a lie was three years old, when his father was at part of a winters sunrise on the Hudson as the Deadwood. sun himself. There used to be such beautiful ice-pictures Jack used to lie in bed and listen for the train,
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HOUSE-CLEANING AT GRANDMOTHER S. on the eastern window-panes; and when the sun a signal his mother did not care to hear, forrose and the fire was lit and the pictures faded, it meant she must get up and set a match toa group of little bronze-black cedars appeared, the fire, laid overnight in the big-bellied air-half a mile away, topping the ridge by the river, tight stove that panted and roared on its fourVol. XIX. —42. 658 THE SPARE BEDROOM AT GRANDFATHERS. (July, short legs, shuddering in a transport of suddenheat. When the air of the room grew milder, Jackwould hop out in his wrapper and slippers, andrun to the north window to see what new shapesthe fountain had taken in the night. The jet of water did not freeze, but the sprayof it froze and piled above the urn, changingas the wind veered, and as the sun wastedit. On some mornings it looked like a weep-ing white lady in a crystal veil; sometimes aNiobe group, children clinging to a white, sadmother who clasped them and bowed her

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