The Nest Builder by Beatrice Forbes-Robertson Hale
page 12 of 379 (03%)
page 12 of 379 (03%)
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ice-blue eyes, would hang above them. Instantly, the man remembered, the
boy would cower like a fledgling beneath the sparrow-hawk, but with as much distaste as fear in his cringing. The words that followed always seemed the same--he could reconstruct the scene clearly, but whether it had occurred once or many times he could not tell. His father's voice would snap across the silence like a high, tight-drawn string-- "Still wasting time? Have you nothing better to do? Where is your sewing? And the boy--why is he not outside playing?" "This helps me, Henry," his mother answered, hesitating and low. "Surely it does no harm. I cannot sew all the time." "It is a childish and vain occupation, however, and I disapprove of the boy being encouraged in it. This of course you know perfectly well. Under ordinary circumstances I should absolutely forbid it; as it is, I condemn it." "Henry," his mother's voice trembled, "don't ask me to give up his companionship. It is too cold for me to be outdoors, and perhaps after the spring I might not be with him." This sentence terrified Stefan, who did not know the meaning of it. He was glad, for once, of his father's ridicule. "That is perfectly absurd, the shallow excuse women always make their husbands for self-indulgence," said the man, turning to go. "You are a healthy woman, and would be more so but for idleness." His wife called him back, pleadingly. "Please don't be angry with me, I'm |
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