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Daviess, Maria Thompson, 1872-1924

"Rose of Old Harpeth"

He--he has been very
kind to us. I--I am very grateful to him and I--" Rose Mary faltered
and dropped her eyes. A tear trembled on the edge of her black lashes
and then splashed on to the chubby cheek of Peter the reposer.
"I see," said Everett coolly, and a flint tone made his usually rich
voice harsh and tight. For a few minutes he sat quietly looking Rose
Mary over with an inscrutable look in his eyes that finally faded
again into the utter world weariness. "I see--and so the bargain and
sale goes on even on Providence Road under Old Harpeth. But the old
people will never have to give up the Briars while you are here to pay
the price of their protection, Rose Mary. Never!"
"I don't believe they will--my faith in Him makes me sure," answered
Rose Mary with lovely unconsciousness as she raised large, comforted
eyes to Everett's. "I don't know how I'm going to manage, but somehow
my cup of faith seems to get filled each day with the wine of courage
and the result is mighty apt to be a--song." And Rose Mary's face
blushed out again into a flowering of smiles.
"A sort of cup of heavenly nectar," answered Everett with an answering
smile, but the keen look still in his eyes. "See here, I want you to
promise me something--don't ever, under any circumstances, tell
anybody that I know about this mortgage. Will you?"
"Of course, I won't if you tell me not to," answered Rose Mary
immediately. "I don't like to think or talk about it.


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