Six years in the retrospect is not a very great span across the ocean of life--in fact, life itself, as Gordon says, is but a span--yet what changes take place in six years, what countless new faces spring up in place of the old ones, what exigencies and plenitudes are transposed: hopes have been crushed or realised, ambitions gained or lost. Still, all this is little in comparison with the change that period had made in Edith, the Squatter's Ward. From a little infant, kicking the cradle pillows with red, chubby heels, she had grown to a bright, chatty child of seven, with an abundance of curly hair, and a pair of large, frank eyes that were soft and blue. Her constant companion was little Harold, a boy of eight or nine, who had been domiciled there since his father, Ralf Havelock, had died two years before. Their careless laughter and childish prattle rang through the old homestead all day, and the dull monotony that had reigned there before their advent was a thing of the past.
There was a pleasant rivalry between Richard Merton and his wife in respect to these foster children. Edith was the pet and pride of Mrs. Merton, while Harold was the protege and idol of Mr. Merton. Of course, Harold, in the eyes of the former, was a bold boy, and was being allowed too much of his own way; and Edith, from Mr. Merton's point of view, was a tomboy, and if not restrained a bit more would be incorrigibly spoilt.
Sign in to unlock this title
Sign in to continue reading, it's free! As an unregistered user you can only read a little bit.
