THE BENT TWIG




BOOK I

_IN ARCADIA_




CHAPTER I

SYLVIA'S HOME


Like most happy childhoods, Sylvia's early years lay back of her in a
long, cheerful procession of featureless days, the outlines of which
were blurred into one shimmering glow by the very radiance of their
sunshine. Here and there she remembered patches, sensations, pictures,
scents: Mother holding baby sister up for her to kiss, and the
fragrance of the baby powder--the pine-trees near the house chanting
loudly in an autumn wind--her father's alert face, intent on the
toy water-wheel he was setting for her in the little creek in their
field--the beautiful sheen of the pink silk dress Aunt Victoria had
sent her--the look of her mother's steady, grave eyes when she was so
sick--the leathery smell of the books in the University Library