Lydia of the Pines eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 391 pages of information about Lydia of the Pines.

Lydia of the Pines eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 391 pages of information about Lydia of the Pines.

With unwonted consideration, Kent helped Lydia strap on her skates.  Then the two started, hand in hand, up the lake.  They skated well, as did most of the children of the community.  The wind in their faces was bitter cold, making conversation difficult.  Whether or not Kent was grateful for this, one could not say.  He watched Lydia out of the tail of his eye and as the wind whipped the old red into her cheeks, he began to whistle.  They had been going perhaps fifteen minutes when the little girl stumbled several times.

“What’s the matter, Lyd?” asked Kent.

“I don’t know,” she panted.  “I—­I guess I’m tired.”

“Tired already!  Gosh!  And you’ve always worn me out.  Come on up to the shore, and I’ll make a fire, so’s you can rest.”

Lydia, who always had scorned the thought of rest, while at play, followed meekly and stood in silence while Kent without removing his skates hobbled up the bank and pulled some dead branches to the shore.  Shortly he had a bright blaze at her feet.  He kicked the snow off a small log.

“Sit down—­here where you get the warmth,” he ordered, his voice as gruff as he could make it.

Lydia sat down obediently, her mittened hands clasping her knees.  Kent stood staring at his little chum.  He took in the faded blue Tam, the outgrown coat, the red mittens, so badly mended, the leggings with patches on the knees.  Then he eyed the heavy circles around her eyes and the droop to the mouth that was meant to be merry.

“I’m sorriest for Lydia,” his mother had said that morning.  “No mother could feel much worse than she does, and she’s got no one to turn to for comfort.  I know Amos.  He’ll shut up like a clam.  Just as soon as they’re out of quarantine, I’ll go out there.”

Kent was only a boy, but he was mature in spite of his heedless ways.  Staring at the tragedy in Lydia’s ravished little face, a sympathy for her pain as real as it was unwonted swept over him.  Suddenly he dropped down beside her on the log and threw his boyish arms about her.

“I’m so doggone sorry for you, Lydia!” he whispered.

Lydia lifted startled eyes to his.  Never before had Kent shown her the slightest affection.  When she saw the sweetness and sympathy in his brown gaze,

“Oh, Kent,” she whispered, “why did God let it happen!  Why did He?” and she buried her face on his shoulder and began to sob.  Softly at first, then with a racking agony of tears.

Even a child is wise in the matter of grief.  Kent’s lips trembled, but he made no attempt to comfort Lydia.  He only held her tightly and watched the fire with bright, unseeing eyes.  And after what seemed a long, long time, the sobs grew less.  Finally, he slipped a pocket handkerchief into Lydia’s hand.  It was gray with use but of a comforting size.

“Wipe your eyes, old lady,” he said in a cheerful, matter of fact tone.  “I’ve got to put the fire out, so’s we can start home.”

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Project Gutenberg
Lydia of the Pines from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.