His eyes were black with
a glint of their youthful devilishness. His thick hair was turning gray.
Margaret, his wife, was a tender scold. She was almost a foundling, but
a believer in heredity could trace in her the evidences of good blood.
From some old mansion, long years in ruin, a grace had escaped and come
to her. An Englishman, traveling homeward from the defunct colony of
Rugby, declared that she was an uncultivated duchess.
"This union was blessed,"--say the newspapers and story-books, speaking
of a marriage,--"with a beautiful girl," or a "manly boy." Often this
phrase is flattery, but sometimes, as in this instance, it is the truth.
Lou Starbuck was beautiful. In her earlier youth she was a delicious
little riot of joy. As she grew older, she was sometimes serious with
the thought that her father and mother had suffered. She loved the truth
and believed that bravery was not only akin to godliness, but the right
hand of godliness.
In Starbuck's household, or at least attached to his log-house
establishment, there were two other persons, an old black mammy who had
nursed Jasper, and a trifling negro named Kintchin.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25