The
boy's letters to his mother were ordinary and natural: he was reading
fairly hard; his coach was as pleasant a person as he had seemed; he
hoped to run down to Stantons for a few days at Christmas. There was
nothing whatever to alarm anyone; plainly his ridiculous attitude
about Spiritualism had been laid by; and, better still, he was
beginning to recover himself after his sorrow in September.
It was an extraordinarily peaceful and uneventful life that the two
led together--the kind of life that strengthens previous proclivities
and adds no new ones; that brings out the framework of character and
motive as dropping water clears the buried roots of a tree. This was
all very well for Mrs. Baxter, whose character was already fully
formed, it may be hoped; but not so utterly satisfactory for the girl,
though the process was pleasant enough.
After Mass and breakfast she spent the morning as she wished,
overseeing little extra details of the house--gardening plans, the
poultry, and so forth--and reading what she cared to. The afternoon
was devoted to the old lady's airing; the evening till dinner to
anything she wished; and after dinner again to gentle conversation.
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