A Little Maid of Ticonderoga
Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
| Author: | Alice Turner Curtis | ISBN: | 9781465537065 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Alice Turner Curtis |
| ISBN: | 9781465537065 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
ESTHER AND BRUIN Faith Carew was ten years old when Esther Eldridge came to visit her. Faith lived in a big comfortable log cabin on one of the sloping hillsides of the Green Mountains. Below the cabin was her father’s mill; and to Faith it always seemed as if the mill-stream had a gay little song of its own. She always listened for it when she awoke each morning. “I wonder if Esther will hear what the brook sings?” thought Faith as she drew on her moccasin slippers and dressed as quickly as she could, for her mOther had already called her twice, and Faith had just reached the top of the stairs when the third call of, “Faith! Faith! I shall not keep your porridge hot another instant,” sounded from the kitchen. “I’m coming, mOther dear,” the little girl called back, and hurried down the stairs, wondering to herself why grown people who could always do exactly as they pleased should think it best to rise before the sun was really up. “Your father was off to the mill an hour ago,” said Mrs. Carew, setting a bowl of steaming porridge on the end of the table beside a narrow window, “so you will have to eat your porridge alone
ESTHER AND BRUIN Faith Carew was ten years old when Esther Eldridge came to visit her. Faith lived in a big comfortable log cabin on one of the sloping hillsides of the Green Mountains. Below the cabin was her father’s mill; and to Faith it always seemed as if the mill-stream had a gay little song of its own. She always listened for it when she awoke each morning. “I wonder if Esther will hear what the brook sings?” thought Faith as she drew on her moccasin slippers and dressed as quickly as she could, for her mOther had already called her twice, and Faith had just reached the top of the stairs when the third call of, “Faith! Faith! I shall not keep your porridge hot another instant,” sounded from the kitchen. “I’m coming, mOther dear,” the little girl called back, and hurried down the stairs, wondering to herself why grown people who could always do exactly as they pleased should think it best to rise before the sun was really up. “Your father was off to the mill an hour ago,” said Mrs. Carew, setting a bowl of steaming porridge on the end of the table beside a narrow window, “so you will have to eat your porridge alone
